


Like Déjà-vu

by TitaniaTempest



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Believe in Swan Queen (Once Upon a Time), Curse Breaking, Curses, Dark Magic, Endgame Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Established Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Eventual Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, F/F, Fairy Tale Curses, Falling In Love, Family Feels, Gen, Happy Ending, Heartache, Heartbreak, Kid Henry Mills (Once Upon a Time), Lesbian Character, Love, Magic, Marriage, Mayor Evil Queen | Regina Mills, No Lesbians Die, POV Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Same-Sex Marriage, Slow Build Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Soulmates, Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), True Love, Unrequited Love, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24115351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TitaniaTempest/pseuds/TitaniaTempest
Summary: Regina’s in a bind. Emma keeps disappearing every few years. Thankfully, she keeps coming back, but everytime she does, it’s like she’s arriving for the first time – new name, new agenda. No one knows her, no one remembers her, except Regina. And Emma doesn’t know it’s happening. She’s unfamiliar with Storybrooke, and doesn’t remember Regina, or Henry.She doesn’t even know herself.Something nefarious is happening, but can Regina get to the bottom of it before Emma disappears again? More importantly, can she keep control of her emotions long enough to win over her true love one more time? Or will Emma leave Storybrooke forever, convinced that Regina is crazy?**ONGOING
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Comments: 30
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

There she is.

My heart stops, and me with it. I chew at my bottom lip to stem the rising tears. My breath hitches in my chest.

Because there she is.

Again.

 _Thank god_.

I push myself into the shadow of the town hall doorway, so she doesn’t see me. She’s heading this way, but I can’t face her yet. It’s been a week since she went missing, and last night I heard the town clock chime for the thirteenth time at midnight. This is the fourth time that’s happened, and I’ve been waiting for her reappearance all day.

I watch her, walking in my direction with that easy, swinging stride. She’s holding a piece of paper, shielding her eyes from the setting sun with her free hand and looking around with open curiosity. Like she doesn’t know where she is…

I want to etch the past onto my heart, to pretend that she’s coming to find me, to fall into my arms where she belongs.

She’s not, though. She has no idea who I am. I remember her, but I know she won’t remember me. She never does.

She’s almost level before she sees me. She starts in surprise, then her face lights up with that easy, glowing smile.

“Oh! Um, hi,” she says, “Sorry, I- didn’t see you there!” She gives a one-shouldered shrug, looking embarrassed. “Are you…” she squints down at the paper in her hand, “Regina? The Mayor?”

Of course I am, she knows that! Except, she doesn’t… I force myself not to grimace, to plaster a false smile across my lips instead.

“Yes, that’s right,” I sigh. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Emily.”

 _Em-MA! Not Emily!_ I want to shout it, but I don’t. I comfort myself with the fact that it’s closer to her real name this time, at least. Every time it’s a different name, a different identity, and I couldn’t deal with another ‘Sue’. The polite smile stays upon my lips.

“I’m the new kindergarten teacher,” she continues, “And I was told to report to you?”

I close my eyes for the briefest moment. A _kindergarten teacher_? You’ve GOT to be kidding me. It’s like Mary-Margaret all over again. My blood runs cold – on second thoughts, that’s not a comparison I want to be making. Ever.

“Madame Mayor?”

She’s looking at me, her fair brow creased with concern, and I feel my heart crumple. _Oh, my brave Saviour! Why don’t you know me?_

“Regina? Are you okay?”

She’s staring now.

_Say something._

“Uh – I, yes,” I manage, “Yes, of course. I wasn’t under the impression that we _needed_ a new _kindergarten teacher_ , that’s all. However, since you’re already here, I suppose we’ll just have to make do.”

I mask my heartache with brusqueness. She raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by my frosty reply. Her forthright stare does not diminish; it holds that unspoken challenge I know so well.

She’s calling me out, and she doesn’t even know it.

“I’m sorry,” I relent. “It’s been a long day. Please, come in. We’ll go through your contract and get you set up with accommodations.”

Her face softens. She’s suspicious, but she smiles and nods.

I turn to lead the way, relieved to have my back to her for a moment so I can gather myself. I can feel her green-eyed gaze blazing along my spine, taking my measure. The way she does every single time. I take a deep, steadying breath and square my shoulders.

_Keep it together, Regina, for Heaven’s Sake. You WILL get to the bottom of this._

_She’s back, that’s what matters. She’s back, so you can try again._

I hold tight to the banister as I traverse the staircase. I can hear her soft footsteps behind me, and I fight the urge to turn and collapse into her arms. My lip quivers, despite my best effort to stop it.

_I can’t do this again. I can’t!_

But, somehow, my feet don’t stop moving. Somehow, I don’t lie down and cry.

I remind myself that I _have_ to do this.

_For her._

I make it up the stairs and she follows me into my office, looking about her with open curiosity. My feet march me relentlessly behind my desk and I sit stiffly down in the large, leather wingback chair, facing her. I gesture to the seat opposite.

“Sit, Emma.”

“Emily,” she corrects me, taking a seat.

I allow myself a single slow, long-suffering blink.

“Of course… _Emily._ ”

I clear my throat and break eye contact to shuffle through some paperwork on my desk, looking for it. Sure enough, there is a new contract tucked into the top of a neat pile. As usual, it wasn’t me who put it there. I grit my teeth and pull it out, scanning through it. It’s the same as the previous one, some vague description of duties, mention of a wage, and, of course, tenure of the flat above Granny’s Diner.

An idea strikes me. I glance up at Emma to see that she’s diverted, taking in the room. Quickly, I mumble a spell and swish my fingers over the paperwork before shuffling it noisily to gain her attention.

Her gorgeous green eyes, intelligent as ever, swing back to me, and she folds her hands in her lap, waiting.

“Well, _Emily_.” I can’t quite keep the acid out of my voice when I say the name. She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. “Everything appears to be in order, except for the matter of accommodation. I must apologise, dear, but it seems that small detail has been overlooked.”

I hand her the contract, and she leafs through it, frowning. I watch the play of expressions across her face; she’s always been easy to read. She’s confused, and mildly pissed-off, and I suppress a smile.

“That’s no problem, of course,” I continue, breezily, “You will stay with me for the time being.”

Her gaze shoots up from the papers, brow creased with suspicious consternation.

“Oh, no, Regina, thank you but I couldn’t impose-”

“It’s no imposition at all, dear,” I cut her off briskly, “In fact, I insist. You will be my guest – it’s only myself and my son in that huge house, after all.”

_Our son._

A lump rises in my throat, but I swallow it. _Hard_.

“Um, well, okay, I guess,” she says uncertainly, “I suppose I could stay with you until something else is arranged…”

“Excellent!” I say, pushing to my feet before it can get awkward, “I was actually just on my way home when you arrived, so if you’ll follow me…?”

I can’t believe my bravado, jumping the gun like this, this time. Am I crazy? Maybe…

 _Crazy for Emma, for sure_.

I can’t stand to be away from her – I have to fix it this time. I can’t lose her again.

I keep my smile pinned to my lips and gesture for her to precede me out of the room. I lock the door behind us, and, oblivious, Emma follows me home.


	2. Chapter 2

A tousled brown head bounces into view as we walk into the house.

“Henry!” I react without thinking, “Do you ever brush your hair?”

I can’t help myself, I run my fingers fussily through it as he gives me a hug hello, straightening his mop of brown hair into some sort of order. Satisfied, I put my hands on his shoulders and turn him to face Emma.

“Henry, this is Emm- _Emily_.”

They stare each other down for a long moment, and I hold my breath. But my hopes are shortly dashed – again.

“Nice to meet you, Emily,” Henry smiles politely. He doesn’t remember, either. No one ever seems to. Except me.

“You too, Kid,” Emma smiles back. She reaches out to tousle his hair, and I fight not to purse my lips in disapproval. “Apparently I’m staying with you for a while. That cool?”

“Yeah!” he grins, grabbing her bag, “C’mon, I’ll show you to your room!”

Emma looks at me for permission, clearly quite taken with him. I nod, my heart constricting so hard I’m scared it might burst. She grins and follows Henry as he bounds away up the stairs, hauling her luggage behind him. In a short moment, I’m alone in the entrance hall.

I slump against the dresser as a sob escapes me. I can’t hold it back; this is the fourth time I’ve had to watch Emma and Henry greet each other as strangers, and it’s more than I can stand. I close my eyes, fighting for control, trying to rein in the tears before they become a flood. I take a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth, kneading my fingers against the sleek wood of the dresser behind me.

When I open my eyes, Emma is standing at the other end of the hall, staring at me.

Mortified, I turn away, opening a drawer in the dresser to search for something non-existent.

_Great start, Regina._

My fingers close on a spare house key, and I scoop it up like a lifeline. I turn to Emma, holding a smile between my teeth by sheer force of will.

“Emily!” I exclaim, as if I’ve just seen her, “I do hope the room is acceptable? Here-” I hold out my hand “-this is your front-door key. Come and go as you please.”

_But mostly, please don’t go._

She’s not fooled by my bravado. _Of course she isn’t_. She follows me as I retreat to the kitchen.

“Regina, you don’t have to put me up,” she says, “If I’m intruding or whatever, I can go see what’s around town…”

“No!” I exclaim, a little more forcefully than I intended. She cocks her head at me, her suspicion growing. “I mean, of course it’s no trouble,” I add quickly, “It’s my duty – as Mayor – to ensure things are taken care of.”

She stops and folds her arms.

 _Uh oh_.

“I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” she says.

I smile, genuinely, for the first time. That’s the Emma I know and love – astute as hell.

“There is,” I admit, opting for a half-truth, “I’m dealing with a… personal issue at the moment. I’m sorry, I know that’s not what you need to hear in your first minute of being here – I’m dealing with it though.”

_Unsuccessfully, for the fourth time._

“Wanna talk about it?” Emma asks. Her green eyes are magnetic – she’s genuinely concerned, even though she doesn’t remember. She’s just that kind of girl.

“No…” I sigh, even though I do. “Yes… I don’t know. It’s so damn complicated.”

_How do I tell you that we’re in love? That you’re everything in the world to me?_

“Maybe I can help you figure it out,” she winks. “Maybe over a beer?”

I glance at the clock instinctively, and a wry smile ghosts Emma’s lips.

“It’s after five,” she goads me.

I roll my eyes. We have this conversation often; why she can’t just settle for a nice cup of tea is beyond me. Bowing out gracefully, I gesture to the fridge, and she grabs two beers with a triumphant grin. Her gaze sweeps the room and spies the fixed bottle opener on the edge of the counter – the one I’d had installed to combat her incessant search for the portable one. She pops both bottles open and hands me one. I bite back my protest and take it.

At this point, alcohol seems like a good idea.

“Lounge, maybe?” she asks, but I shake my head and take a seat on one of the kitchen stools.

The living room holds too many intimate memories for me to sit in there as a stranger to her.

She shrugs and follows my lead, reclining on a stool opposite me and taking a deep draught of her beer.

“Well?” she prompts. She’s staring at me like I’m her favourite kind of mystery novel.

I avert my gaze, picking at the label of my beer bottle. Restless, I get up to get a glass and decant my beer into it, stalling. I never liked drinking out of the bottle anyway. Emma’s intelligent green eyes follow my every move.

“Okay,” she presses as I sit back down, “I’m going to guess, then… It’s gotta be love problems, am I right?”

I purse my lips, staring down into the bubbly depths of my beer. I don’t really want to answer that; I have the feeling this could be an awkward conversation. But Emma clears her throat expectantly, so I shrug my agreement.

“I knew it,” she says, pleased with herself, “So, who’s the boyfriend?”

My flinty gaze shoots up to meet hers. “Girlfriend, dear.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows perk up, surprised. _Why is she always surprised?_

I resist the urge to say ‘Yes, you, you idiot!’.

“Huh.” She taps at her lips with her free hand, digesting that bit of information. She’s looking at me with an odd expression.

“You find that hard to believe?” I ask. I put my glass down and fold my arms, daring her.

“Well…”

I raise an eyebrow, sucking irritably at my cheek, waiting for her to worm her way out of this one.

“Yeah…” she continues, awkwardly, “I guess I do find it a bit hard to believe. I mean, look at you,” she gestures to all of me, “You don’t exactly _look_ like a lesbian…”

I lean forward in my seat, and my eyes glitter dangerously. My voice is deadly soft, and my eyebrows couldn’t climb much higher. “I don’t _look_ like a lesbian…?”

Emma shifts nervously in her seat, gesturing awkwardly. “Well, you’re so… I don’t know… _Lady-like_.”

“Which means I can’t be gay?”

Emma realises she’s dug herself a hole. “I didn’t say that! I just meant…”

“Just meant what?” I challenge, leaping to my feet, unable to believe that I’m being told I don’t _look_ gay by my own girlfriend. My voice rises. “What _did_ you mean, exactly, Ms. Swan?”

 _Shit._ I clamp my mouth shut. The appellation slipped out unintentionally; it’s my go-to when I’m angry with her. I didn’t even think before it tumbled from my lips.

Emma was staring down at the kitchen tiles, mortified, but her gaze snaps up in response to my slip of the tongue.

“What did you call me…?”

She places her beer on the kitchen counter, and gets to her feet, too. She wears a strange expression on her face, and her green eyes are guarded. It’s my turn to look away.

“Nothing,” I mumble, my cheeks burning hot. So much for taking it slow, winning her back carefully, like I usually do. Nothing like calling her by the ‘wrong name’ to start off on the right foot. “I’m sorry, _Emily_ , I’m usually far more in control of my emotions.”

Something in her expression shifts, and she folds her arms.

“Look, Regina, this is pretty weird,” she says quietly, “I’m not sure you’re in the right frame of mind for company – clearly you’re dealing with something big and me being here is not helping.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she hurriedly keeps talking before I have the chance.

“Look, I’m just gonna head out to that diner I saw down the street, see if they have a room.” She rubs her fists down her thighs, a clear sign that she is anxious and about ready to bolt.

I sigh, dipping my head in acceptance. There’s nothing to be done but to let her leave; she clearly thinks I’m crazy and trying to talk her out of that theory will only alienate her further. So I nod, and she relaxes a little.

“I must apologise for my outburst, _Emily_.” The name is _so_ bitter on my tongue. “If you’ll wait just a moment, I will phone ahead for you.”

She tilts her head at my offer, trying to figure me out. She’s done it a thousand times before, that exact tilt – green eyes slightly narrowed, lips drawn to one side. I feel my heart constrict, and suddenly I’m happy she’s leaving.

I need time to breathe. 

She sucks in a noisy breath, giving up trying to suss me for the time being. “Thanks, Madame Mayor, I’d appreciate that. And, hey, I’m sorry if I came across as if I was insinuating anything about your sexuality – I honestly meant no offense! I shouldn’t have intruded in the first place. I hope you get to the bottom of whatever’s troubling you.”

She gifts me a small smile, but I turn away to reach for the phone. I can’t look into those beautiful, earnest eyes a moment longer, and my own are filled with tears.

Wordlessly, I dial for Granny’s.


	3. Chapter 3

The front door clicks closed with ominous finality. I stand with my palm pressed flat against it, leaning my forehead against the cool veneer. In silence, I listen to the taxi pulling away outside.

_Taking my heart away with it._

I exhale a slow, heavy sigh. My eyes are tight shut, lashes soaked with quiet tears. I can’t quite seem to find the urge to move from where I’m standing.

“Mom…?” Henry’s soft voice floats across the hall, making me start.

I lift my head up and take a deep breath, trying to blink back those tenacious droplets of distress. I turn to Henry, managing only the weak ghost of a watery smile. His small face creases with a concern far beyond his tender years and he quickly crosses the distance remaining between us. He envelopes me in a fierce hug, catching me around the waist with a powerful squeeze. My gaze comes to rest upon the top of his head and I run my fingers through his soft brown locks. They’re still mussed from when Emma tousled them, and I can’t bring myself to straighten them out.

My chest tightens at the thought of her fingers in our son’s hair, and I drop down to my knees to hug him properly. He doesn’t know what he’s lost, but I do - and it’s breaking me. How many times is life going to reset to him being a ten-year-old boy again? I’ve watched him grow into his teens four times - _four times_ into a sweet and capable young man.

And yet here we are again – back to one parent, and he’s just a child once more.

He moulds his little body against me as my arms engulf him, and I clutch him tightly, wishing I knew how to fix it all.

That helpless thought pushes me over the edge and suddenly I can’t stop the tears. They fall like rain, and I bury my face into Henry’s scrawny shoulder. My son, bless his heart, simply holds onto me for dear life.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that - me, a mother, the mayor, a _queen_ , crying onto the shoulder of a ten-year-old boy.

_Get it together, Regina!_

With an effort, I relinquish my hold on him at last, pulling back to hold him at arms-length. He looks at me from under his tousled bangs and reaches out awkwardly to brush at my damp cheeks with the end of his sleeve.

“Please don’t cry, mom,” he says in a small voice. He’s confused; worried and scared.

And it’s my fault. _Jesus, what kind of a mother am I?_ Fresh tears threaten, but I bury them harshly, for his sake.

“I’m sorry, Henry,” I say. I force a smile onto my trembling lips. “I didn’t mean for you to see me like this.”

With the frankness only a child possesses, he asks, “Is it because of her?”

He lifts his gaze to the closed doorway as if Emma might magically reappear there. My emotions roar at his unexpected question, and it takes everything I have to force them into submission.

I frown at him to keep my face steady, wondering why he has to pick _now_ to be as perceptive as his mother. But he holds my gaze - with that same level of earnestness that I’m used to seeing in a different pair of eyes. I bite my lip, still holding him by the shoulders, trying to decide what to do. I don’t want to lie to him (again) but the truth just sounds insane.

“She reminds me of someone,” he offers, “I dunno why, but I kinda feel like I know her.”

His confession catches me by surprise. His innocent eyes are wide – he’s troubled by thoughts and emotions he doesn’t understand. My heart bucks against my ribs, crying out for my son and his missing mother.

“Oh, Henry…” My bottom lip trembles and I take a deep breath. He’s hoping for an explanation, and I’m not sure I have one to give.

“Who is she?” he whispers, dropping his chestnut gaze to the floor tiles. He seems desperate to know, and yet terrified of the answer.

I can’t lie to him. Not this time.

It’s killing me.

“Look at me, Henry,” I say softly, reaching out to lift his chin, “This is going to sound crazy, but just hear me out, okay?”

He lifts his gaze with an effort, shuffling his feet. I push a wayward strand of hair out of his eyes and stroke his cheek to reassure him. Before I can change my mind, I launch into a rushed explanation.

“Her name is Emma, and she’s your mother. She’s supposed to be here, with you and me. We’re a family, Henry – but no one remembers except me.”

A tenuous silence descends as he stares at me. I’m biting my lip so hard now I think I might draw blood.

_Say something, Henry. Anything._

He twists his small mouth, thinking.

“You said… You said her name was Emily.” There’s a faint hint of accusation in his tone.

“I know,” I nod, “Because she thinks that’s her name. But it’s not. Her name is Emma; she just doesn’t remember.”

He pulls away from me, creating space between us. He’s suspicious; he likes things to make sense, just like Emma does. I fight the urge to sigh at the resemblance. My shoulders slump – I know how insane the whole thing sounds, and I don’t have all the answers. I’m not even sure why I’m confiding in my pre-teen son.

_Maybe I really am crazy._

Henry maintains his stand-off, his expression carefully neutral. I realise my explanation isn’t enough, and he’ll freeze me out until it makes sense.

“Emma keeps disappearing, Henry,” I try again, “I don’t know why, and I don’t know how to fix it. Every time she comes back, she doesn’t remember who she is. She doesn’t remember me. And, worst of all, she doesn’t remember you.”

His small hands fist uneasily at his sides. “I don’t remember _her_ , either,” he says.

“I know.” My brow creases with the painful memory of him ‘meeting’ Emma again.

“How come?”

I have even less of an explanation for that one, but he’s looking at me expectantly, waiting for _something_ that he understands.

Desperate, I clutch at straws. “I think it’s a curse.”

I pulled that guess out of my ass – I have no idea if it’s a curse.

_Although, that would make perfect sense…_

Henry’s eyes widen, and then he frowns in consternation. He drops his gaze, his eyes flashing from side to side as his thoughts race. I watch him, waiting to see what he’s going to say.

“Only you remember her?” he says slowly, still staring at his feet as though they might provide the answer.

I realise the question is rhetorical, so I don’t reply. I lean back on my heels, waiting. My knees are going numb from kneeling, but I don’t want to rise and spoil his train of thought. Sure, he’s ten. But you know what they say – _out of the mouths of babes…_

He looks sharply up at me. “How come _you_ remember?”

_Huh. That’s a good question._

He continues before I can respond, following through on his thoughts. “Maybe someone doesn’t want us to be a family, but they don’t like you, so they make you have to live with it.”

My jaw drops. _Jesus, Henry._

His face brightens at my reaction; he knows he’s onto something good. He comes back in for another hug, squeezing me tight, then leans back to look up at me without letting go.

“Don’t worry, mom. We’ll figure this out and get Emma back.”

I remember to close my mouth. _When did he get so smart?_ I narrow my eyes. “You can’t call her Emma, Henry.”

“I can with you,” he grins, seeing straight through my frosty attempt to hide my amazement. He releases me and shrugs – that same one-shouldered shrug that Emma is so fond of – and a tiny butterfly of hope unfurls in my heart. I smile back.

The simple fact that our son believes me revives my will to go on, and I rise to my feet.

“All right, wise-guy,” I say, “We’ll figure it out together. How about we talk about it over some Hot Cocoa?”

I offer him my hand and he grabs it, nodding enthusiastically.

I feel like a weight has been lifted. Maybe he’s right; maybe we will figure this out and get Emma back for good. I take a deep breath, willing myself to believe it.

_I have to get her back. Life without her isn’t worth living._

My face clouds over as I head to the kitchen. Dark fury chases my heartache temporarily into a corner. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure my guess is right; this has to be a curse of some kind. My lips pull down, and my scowl deepens. I can feel the tick of darkness in my veins.

I will find out who has torn my family apart.

And when I do…

I will _tear them_ apart.

And if my only ally is my ten-year-old son, well… so be it. At least he’s smart. Like his mother.


	4. Chapter 4

That night, deep in the throes of slumber, I murmur and tremble - helpless against the embrace of darkness.

_I open my eyes, heavy-lidded, half-asleep. The room is surreal, streaked with moonbeams and shadow. Silver pools of moonlight ebb and flow at my feet. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in lacy black negligee, barefoot and restless. I swing my gaze about the room, trying to fathom why it looks so unearthly. I feel as though I’m waiting, but I don’t know for what._

_Before I can quite get my bearings, movement at the doorway arrests my attention. A shadow pads softly into the room, and I narrow my eyes, trying to make out the silhouette._

_My heart stops as Emma steps under a torrent of moonlight. Her skin is drenched in silver, and she’s wearing nothing but a smile. My lips part in sweet surprise and my night-dark eyes drink her in._

_Her blonde hair cascades across her shoulders, framing a face porcelain in the moonlight. She’s staring at me, setting me on fire with her endless emerald gaze. Her smile fades and her lips part, breathless with lust. She closes the distance between us in three quick strides._

_My breath catches in my throat; I have no chance to utter a sound. Her fingers lace through my dark hair, tilting my head back to meet her burning lips. My own lips are soft, hungry, aching for her; she explores my mouth with her artful tongue. I gasp for air around her staggering kiss, unable to catch my breath. Dizzy, heady, I let her consume me, helpless to do anything else._

_She breaks away, leaving me gasping. Before I can recover she pushes me down onto my back. Her fingers entwine through mine, and she traps my hands against the bedsheets. She hovers over me, staring into my soul. I bite my lip to stifle a moan, desperate for her to ravage me. My hips twist beneath her, trying to press up against her lithe body, but she keeps me pinned - helpless, trembling, waiting..._

_The moment deepens, becomes something more. Lust retreats and is replaced by something fleeting and timorous._

_Emma whispers my name, her voice soft and remote. Her green eyes fill with an arcane sadness. She leans down to kiss me once more, her soft lips fluttering across mine like a butterfly’s wings. She releases my hands and I fist them through her glorious golden hair, feeling my heart torn in two by a deep and desperate longing._

_A heart-aching, soul-tearing longing..._

_“Please, Emma, don’t go!” I whisper against her lips, “I miss you! God, I miss you…”_

_I realise I’m crying. My wet lashes press against her cheek as I cling to her, body trembling, desperate for her to stay._

_But her form fades. She stares down at me with a sad smile painted on her lips, and then, like a star at dawn, she’s gone._

I wake with a cry and bolt upright in my bed. My heart pounds against my ribs, frantic as a caged songbird, and a powerful sob tears from my lips. It dissolves into a keening that wrings at my very soul. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them; I bury my face, wishing reality away.

_Please… Oh… Please…_

_Emma…_

I can almost taste her kiss. My shoulders shake, relentlessly; I can’t breathe for the sobs wracking my chest. I can’t even shake my head to clear it. My tears fall in a merciless storm, draining every miniscule shred of courage I have. The righteous fury I bolstered myself with earlier today has long since abandoned me.

There’s nothing to do but give in to the agony. I cry until I can’t anymore, until I have no tears left to shed. Eventually, exhaustion wins out and sleep takes me once more.

Mercifully, this time, to a deep and dreamless place.


	5. Chapter 5

A persistent nudging rouses me. I open one eye to see my son standing over me, his face indistinct in the early morning light.

“Mom!” Henry whispers, “Mom, wake up!”

I groan, covering my eyes with the back of my hand and willing him to go away.

But he’s tenacious.

“Henry… what’s wrong?” I move my arm, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on his face. My eyes are blurry from a night of tears. “What time is it?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he murmurs conspiratorially, “But we’re starting Operation Momma Bear today. It’s six-thirty, by the way.”

Another groan escapes me – the night feels like it’s been entirely too short. With an effort I push myself upright, rubbing my eyes. I look sideways at him and realise he’s holding out a steaming cup of camomile tea, carefully cradled in both hands. The fact that he’s brought me tea in bed instantly makes me feel better - even though I usually only drink camomile in the evenings.

“Thank you, Henry,” I smile, relieving him of it, “That’s very sweet.”

He crawls into bed beside me, pleased with himself, but his animated expression leaves me under no illusion about the likelihood of a quiet cuddle.

“So I was thinking…” he says, and I supress a smile. He catches my lips twitching. “What?”

“Nothing.” I let the smile roll across my lips. “You just sound so much like your mother when you say that.”

He breaks into a toothy grin. “Do I?”

I stroke his handsome little head with my free hand. “Yeah, you do. You’re a lot like her, actually. Except…”

His face falls. “Except what?”

“Except she’s not a morning person.” I wink at him, and relief floods his face.

“Neither are you, today,” he laughs.

“I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.” I elbow him lightly in the ribs, and he giggles, ticklish. I don’t pursue my advantage; I’m worried I’ll spill my tea.

“Are you gonna let me tell you what I was thinking?” he badgers, pushing my arm aside.

I put my teacup down on the nightstand and pull a pillow up against the headboard behind me. I sit more upright and regard him with all due seriousness.

“ _Well?_ ” I say with an expansive gesture - as though he were an advisor, and I still a Queen.

He clears his throat, and his face turns serious. I raise an eyebrow. Whatever it is, he’s obviously thought about it a helluva lot.

“Well, you said Emma is staying at Granny’s, right?”

He waits for me to nod, pacing himself, giving himself time to elocute his plan properly. I’m impressed. _We’ll make a Prince out of you yet._

“So I was thinking,” he continues, “Maybe I could go down there after school and get her to have some cocoa with me...”

My eyebrow arches higher. _Where is he going with this?_

“Then you can ‘unexpectedly’ come in, and I’ll invite you to join us... She won’t be able to say no – that’s rude.”

_The diabolical little fiend. I can tell he’s Emma’s child._

“Then, maybe you can invite her for dinner, or something?”

He notices my dubious expression and folds his arms, ready to defend his plan to the death. But I’m not going to disagree – it’s a great plan. Simple, easy to execute, it’s just…

Surely using my ten-year-old son as a weapon to win over the love of my life is beneath me?

I purse my lips.

_Nope. Whatever it takes._

“That would be a good start,” I accept his proposal, “But that doesn’t get us any closer to finding out who cast the curse, now does it?”

Henry rolls his eyes.

“Jeez, mom. What do you want from me – I’m ten.”

I laugh and elbow him out the bed. My mood has drastically improved, thanks to him.

“Go get ready for school. I’ll be down in a bit.”

“Can we have pancakes for breakfast?”

“Sure.”

He scampers from the room, grinning, and I shake my head at his enthusiasm. I wish I felt the same, but where he’s excited, I’m terrified. The expression on Emma’s face when she left yesterday keeps replaying in my mind, and I _know_ I can’t face a look like that again.

She thinks I’m unstable... I guess I am – thanks to her. I check myself. That’s not fair; it’s hardly her fault. She has no idea that she’s broken my heart.

Again.

And again…

And again.

With a sigh, I reach over for the half-finished cup of tea and drain it. The camomile smooths over my jagged nerves. That, coupled with Henry’s liveliness this morning, helps me get out of bed. Once I’m on my feet I feel a renewed surge of vigour. Henry’s simple plan gives me hope – if I can get Emma on sides, maybe she can help me figure it out. We were so close last time, _so close!_ We just ran out of time…

Every time this happens, the timespan gets shorter. The first time, Emma was here with Henry and me for five years. The second time, four. The third time, two...

And this last time, just barely one.

In retrospect, it feels an awful lot like a countdown… and I have the horrible feeling that this is my last chance to fix it.

The thought propels me rapidly to action, and in short seconds I’m dressed and swooping downstairs.

_This time – this time, I’ll fix it._


	6. Chapter 6

I stand outside Granny’s in the chill autumn air, looking in through the glass port on the door. My eyes are fixed on Emma, who has her back to me and is laughing at something Henry said. They’re in the third booth down from the entrance, sipping hot cocoa and chatting amiably.

_As if they’ve known each other forever._

The only thing missing… is me.

But I can’t bring myself to open the door, to walk in, to approach Emma. I’m not ready to face that doubt that clouds her eyes; that mistrust she holds for a ‘stranger’ who might harbour dark intentions.

But Henry sees me over Emma’s shoulder and pulls his eyes wide, grimacing ever-so-slightly for me to stop hovering at the door like a weirdo. With a snappy sigh I pull my hand free from my pocket, reaching out, but I hesitate before making contact with the door handle. I fist and release my fingers twice, flexing them to get the blood flowing against the cold - and mostly for procrastination purposes. Henry manages to flash me a sneaky frown, but I narrow my eyes at him, irked at being rushed.

Suddenly, the door swings open with unnecessary force. I flinch away in surprise as it barely misses colliding with me. I recover, and then my expression darkens to a full-blown scowl as I find myself facing a grumpy Leroy.

My _favourite_ member of the munchkin tribe.

With a face like a squeezed lemon, he looks me up and down and growls, “Watcha doing out here, sister? You’re making the patrons jumpy.”

In automatic response, I look over his head at the numerous sets of eyes turning in my direction. He’s right, dammit. I forgot that everyone else’s memories have been reset, too; to them, I’m just the villain.

My eyes sweep the room, taking in the frightened, hostile glares. I purse my lips irritably.

 _Am I really_ that _unpopular?_

Emma swivels in her seat to see what the commotion is about. Her easy smile vanishes when she sees me, and I can see her jaw tighten even from where I’m standing.

Sighing inwardly, I shift my glare back down at Leroy, who quails without meaning to.

But I school my features into a passable smile. “How _kind_ of you to get the door, dear.”

I sidestep him with all the grace of a queen, leaving him sputtering in the doorway. Henry, his reactions as impeccable as always, quickly breaks the stony silence within as I approach.

“Mom!” he calls brightly, “What are you doing here?”

I stroll over to his booth, pointedly ignoring the rest of the room. My smile briefly relaxes into one of genuine warmth as he winks at me, but then I tuck it away behind a mask of disapproval.

“Henry! What are _you_ doing here? You should be at home, doing your homework!”

I turn my attention to Emma, feigning surprise at his choice of company. “Emily! I’m so sorry - I hope he wasn’t pestering you? He can be a little overexuberant with new friends. Come on, Henry, it’s time to go.”

“But mo-om…” he pouts - perfectly.

_Oh, I’m going to make him pancakes every day for a week, for this!_

“Don’t make me tell you twice,” I warn, placing my hand down on his skinny shoulder to pull him away. “I don’t want you bothering Emily-”

I break off as Emma clears her throat. “Um… Regina?”

I shift my attention back to her, my face a picture of polite query. “Yes, dear?”

“Uh, it’s okay, Henry was just hanging out with me…” she says. “I hope you don’t mind…? I’m sorry, I should have checked that it was okay with you, but he kinda just bumped into me here.”

“Did he now?” I raise my eyebrows at our son, and the faintest blush of pride colours his cheek. Emma notices his face colouring, but mistakes it for discomfort beneath my scrutiny.

“I bought him a cocoa,” she says quickly, defending him, “He’s no trouble, honestly.”

I feel my heart swell and it’s all I can do to upkeep my stern demeanour. It’s adorable how protective she is over him, even when she doesn’t remember who he is.

“Can I finish my cocoa at least, mom?” Henry pleads, quick to continue the charade. He turns puppy-dog eyes on Emma, silently begging for her support to make me hang around.

It works, of course.

“Um…” she starts, quite obviously wondering if she’ll regret her next words. She pauses, exhaling heavily, and I hold my breath. “Maybe you’d… like a coffee… or something, Madame Mayor?”

My face remains as impassive as marble, and I stand undecided. _Cheering like hell on the inside._

“Well…” I say, but I let it trail off, so as not to seem too eager.

“ _Please_ , mom!” Henry persists. He leaps forward to clutch me around the waist, eyes shining. I raise an eyebrow at him – a warning that he’s now _overdoing_ it.

Sheepish, he lets go, and I eyeball him before snapping my gaze back to Emma.

I sigh impatiently (ever the busy Mayor). “I _suppose_ I have time for a quick cup…”

Henry bolts like a sprinter from the start line, off to order said coffee before anybody can change their minds. I shake my head wryly, and Emma smiles tightly at me as I sit down opposite her.

“He’s a sweet kid,” she offers, awkwardly.

“He is,” I agree. “Too smart for his own good, sometimes.”

Emma smiles more freely at that. “I’ll say.”

We sit silent for a moment, simply taking each other’s measure. It reminds me of the early days when we first met; the suspicion - and the chemistry we both tried so hard to deny. I remember that _she_ chased _me_ , the first time... Funny how things change.

Henry reappears with a giant latte – not usually my style, but I get it; he’s intending to buy us some extra time. He puts it down in front of me and then slides onto the seat next to Emma, effectively pinning her into the booth so she can’t leave.

She doesn’t notice, but I do. _Well played, Henry. Maybe you do take after me, after all._

I slide his cocoa over to his side, rewarding his performance with a small smile. He drops his gaze to his hot drink, trying not to grin, but shortly looks up at me again with his expression carefully neutral.

I half-raise an eyebrow, impressed. _Oh, you definitely take after me. When all this is over, I must remember to lord this moment over Emma._

“Guess what, mom?” he says, casually, “Me and Emily both like cinnamon on our cocoa.”

“ _Emily and I_ ,” I correct automatically. “And is that so?”

I shift my gaze to Emma, politely waiting for her take on that phenomena.

“True story,” she shrugs.

“What a _coincidence_ ,” I smile - and Henry snorts into his cocoa.

Emma’s green eyes flash in his direction, but he covers it up with a loud burst of coughing, pretending he choked on his drink. Surreptitiously, I roll my eyes. Emma rubs his back until the ‘coughing fit’ subsides.

“You okay, kid?” she says, her concern evident.

“Yeah, I’m fine!” he replies, wiping his nose with his sleeve. I cringe, but say nothing.

Emma smiles at him, and he dazzles her with his toothiest grin. I smile, too - not so broadly though, because that would be inappropriate. I could watch Emma and Henry for hours; even as near-strangers, they’re so in-sync it’s frightening.

_God, I’d do anything to have my family back together…_

That familiar feeling of empty longing catches me off-guard again, causing my smile to fade.

Emma looks across at me, her happy smile overflowing from Henry, but concern snuffs it as she meets my eyes. Her brow creases - she’s confused by the expression on my face. My emotions are too near the surface, and she can see something is wrong. I curse inwardly at my slip and subtly clear my throat to clear my head. I quickly force my feelings away and pin the shallow smile across my lips once more.

“So…” I say breezily, to cover up my lapse in control, “Emily. How are things down at the school? I hope the children are behaving themselves better than my son, here.”

She stares at me for a moment more, but my mask is back in place. I’m perfectly at ease, and she seems to consider that she was imagining things. Her shoulders relax a little.

“It’s a great school,” she says at last, “And the kids are a cool bunch. They kept me entertained all day.” She pauses, and then a wicked glint flashes in her eye. “They do a mean ‘Mayor’ impression, let me tell you.”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise; I’m not sure I like the sound of that. “A ‘Mayor’ impression?”

“Sure,” Emma laughs, “They’re all terrified of you, so they pretend to _be_ you and chase each other around the classroom. It’s pretty funny.”

“Oh, isn’t that just _endearing_ …” My gaze switches to my son, who’s trying to hide a giggle behind his cup. I narrow my eyes at him. “You think it’s hilarious, too, do you?”

“Oh come on, mom,” he grins, discarding his tiny shield, “You’re pretty scary sometimes!”

“I am _not_!” I object.

Henry leans forward and raises his eyebrows, tilting his chin at me in mocking challenge.

“Oh, fine!” I huff, folding my arms crossly. “So I’m scary sometimes.” I stare mutinously at the pair of them, and they fall about laughing.

“Like now,” Henry smirks, waggling his eyebrows at me.

I scowl, but then I can’t help but laugh too; it’s pretty hard to stay scary around these two. I feel my guard slowly start to relax, finding comfort in present company.

But a new voice suddenly interjects, and I slam the door on my hopeful feelings.

“Sorry to interrupt, Madame Mayor…”

My laughter evaporates, and I turn to see Ruby hovering, notepad in hand.

“You’re not interrupting,” Emma replies before I can say anything. She smiles at Ruby - the kind of smile I _don’t_ like to see on her face when she’s talking to another woman. “What’s up?”

I narrow my eyes as Emma looks her over appreciatively. But Ruby directs her query to me - luckily for everyone involved. “Uh, I just came to see if you need anything else?”

I decide to take matters firmly into my own hands. Turn smoky eyes on the waitress, I curve my lips into a sultry smirk.

“Thank you, Ruby, but I think we’re all right for the time being.”

“You sure?” Ruby swallows hard, trying to keep her gaze away from my suggestive mouth. “An-anything at all, you just let me know…”

Blatantly, I graze my teeth across my bottom lip. I nibble on it, staring up at her from beneath hooded lashes. I can practically hear her heart flutter. “Thank you dear, I will _definitely_ give you a call when I need something.”

Ruby blushes furiously, like a teenager acknowledged by her first crush. To her credit, she manages to rein in her plunging surprise enough to respond.

“Sure thing, Madame Mayor - any time.” She offers me a polite smile with a suggestive wink, and retreats to the kitchen.

Henry, oblivious to the entire exchange, uses the interlude to announce that he’s going to the bathroom. He hops off his seat and disappears, too.

And then it’s just me and Emma, staring each other down across the table.

I raise an eyebrow at her, daring her to say something. She’s not put off by my challenge.

“What was _that_ about?” she hisses.

“What was what about?” I ask innocently.

“Don’t bullshit me, Regina,” she rolls her eyes. “That was about _something_ alright.”

I nearly burst into delighted laughter. _Dear GOD – she’s jealous!_

“Nothing worth discussing, dear,” I say smoothly, brushing it aside.

Emma narrows her eyes at me. She hasn’t got a leg to stand on, and she knows it, but she just can’t let it go.

“You and Ruby, for real?” she says, doing her best to keep her voice at a polite volume.

I smirk. “She’s lovely to look at, don’t you think?”

Emma’s scowl darkens and she folds her arms. “She certainly _loves_ to look at _you_ , that’s for sure.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I snap sarcastically. “I didn’t realise it bothers you so much.”

Emma checks herself and drops her gaze, blushing. “It’s not that it bothers me, Regina – It’s just… well… I don’t know… It’s none of my business, I guess…”

 _Oh,_ y _ou beautiful, stubborn idiot! There’s nothing between me and Ruby. You’re it - you’re the one!_

I fall silent, staring at her, waiting for her to look up again. I lean my elbow on the table and my chin on the heel of my hand until, finally, she lifts her gaze. Her green eyes hold something unfathomable, and I guess that she’s trying to make sense of feelings she doesn’t understand. My heart goes out to her, and I drop my sarcastic defence.

“Ruby and I are not ‘a thing’,” I say quietly. “Never have been, never will be. She’s not my type.”

_She’s not you._

Emma holds my dark gaze, reading me in that uncanny way she has. In the silence, something unspoken passes between us.

“Okay,” she says, at last. Then, more softly, she repeats it. “Okay.”

I realise that it’s not just an acceptance of the facts about Ruby - it’s a peace offering that suggests we can start over. She’s feeling something, and she’s willing to give me a chance to prove I’m not a crazy, emotional wreck.

I hesitate as my nerves get the better of me, but then I decide it’s now or never. “Would you… would you like to have dinner with Henry and I, sometime? I mean, only if you’d like to. If you’d rather not, or-”

“Yes.”

“Yes…?” I repeat, not quite believing I heard right.

“Yes.” She meets my gaze with her green, green eyes. “I’d like that.”

A shy smile curves my lips and I allow myself a moment of hope. I open my mouth to respond, but I’m interrupted by Henry flinging himself back onto the seat beside Emma. He gives us both a heart-attack; neither of us saw him coming, too captivated by the fleeting almost-moment suspended between us.

Our hearts race in perfect synchronicity, and she catches my eye with a grin. I smile back, feeling lighter than I have for a long, long time.

She’s coming to dinner!

_Maybe there’s still time for us, after all._


	7. Chapter 7

_Emma is coming to dinner!_

The thought has plagued me all day, along with equal parts of excitement and terror... This is my shot, and it has to be perfect! But time is ticking closer to the hour of her arrival and I’m nowhere near ready…

I haven’t been this distracted and edgy in years. It’s ridiculous - but I can’t help the hopeful flutters in my heart.

_The ones making it damn near impossible to concentrate._

“Henry?” I yell, frantically twirling a wooden spoon through a mixture that refuses to bind, “HENRY!”

“ _Yes_ , mom?” he responds - from right behind me.

I jump, but luckily remember to release the side of the mixing bowl I’m holding before I spin to face him. I rake my flour-covered fingers through my hair, trying to be calm. Henry raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to tell him what I wanted.

_What did I want…?_

“Did you… set the table?” I ask distractedly. I turn back to the mess of baking ingredients, kneading my fingers through my dark locks and staring down at the mix in frustration. _Why is it so damn lumpy?!_

“ _Ages_ ago…” he scoffs. “That’s the third time you’ve asked me, mom.” He hops off the kitchen stool he’s sitting on and leans up on tiptoes to assess the progress of what’s in the bowl. He dips his finger in to taste the batter and adds, “You have flour in your hair now, by the way.”

Horrified, I tear my hands down out of my hair - and accidentally catch the edge of the wooden spoon sticking out of the bowl.

The momentum acts like a lever, catapulting the bowl off the counter. Henry ducks as I lunge frantically for it, but I’m too late to prevent the carnage. It eludes me and tumbles down to spew its contents across the kitchen floor. Unceremoniously defeated by a household item, I lose the will to stay upright a moment longer and slide down onto my knees with a sob.

_Oh, God – I can’t do this!_

Sporadic tears trickle down my face, brought on by excessive adrenalin. I’m not really upset by the falling bowl, it’s just that my rollercoaster emotions can’t handle the impending arrival of Emma.

Henry surveys me with questionable pity. He heaves an exaggerated sigh and then hops over the mess to fetch the mop. He starts cleaning, but said mop is not designed for use by someone his size. The back end of it wobbles dangerously high above his head, fighting his every move. He wrestles with it, trying to force it to do his bidding.

My eyes widen as I watch him heroically wielding the ungainly weapon in my honour. I suppress a snort of laughter, but the ludicrousness of my four-foot child struggling under a five-foot mop sends me into a helpless fit of giggles.

Suddenly I’m laughing _and_ crying.

“ _Mom!_ ” Henry exclaims, exasperated. He stops his attempt at mopping and frowns over at me. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

I simply shake my head, unable to answer for the laughter and tears. A plume of flour swirls out of my dark hair with the movement - and converts my laughter to a fit of coughing.

Henry rolls his eyes so hard they all but disappear. He props the mop against the side of the counter and decides to retreat.

“I’ll be playing video games-” he shoots back over his shoulder “-in case you’re looking for me to set the table again!”

I try to respond but am defeated by the dregs of my coughing fit.

_Smart ass._

Suddenly alone, I pause for a second to catch my breath and assess my current situation.

_Fan-tastic... Covered in flour… surrounded by a sea of half-mixed batter. Prone to manic laughter… and with eyeliner like a panda._

I purse my lips and wipe away the last of my tears.

_This just won’t do! I can’t believe one woman has the power to reduce me to such a nervous bloody wreck! No wonder Emma thinks I’m nuts… Thank goodness she isn’t here to see-_

“Regina…?”

My blood runs cold.

_Great, now I’m imagining things._

_Please be imagining things…_

But I lift my eyes to see _her_ , very not-imaginary, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

_Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me..._

“I’m sorry…” she says, backing up slowly, “I should have knocked! I - uh - I still had the key…”

_Well. So much for making a good impression this time…_

She turns as if to leave and I push hurriedly to my feet. “Emily! Wait!”

She stops, and I put on a fluttery laugh - as if my kitchen (and me) being in such a state was the most normal thing in the world.

“Come in, come in!” I gesture to her - my voice is a little too falsetto, but I can’t help it. “ _Please_ excuse the mess! Henry was helping me with the apple pie, and we… uh - had a… um… food fight-”

_A food fight? Really? THAT’S what you’re going with…?_

“-you know how boys can be… Henry’s always the little joker!” I finish with a lame laugh, holding my hands up in a ‘what can you do?’ kind of fashion.

_AND you blamed Henry…? Jesus, Regina. New levels of low, girl._

But Emma’s stance loses its tension and her lips curve into that pretty smile I’ve missed. My shoulders relax a little in automatic response.

“Boys will be boys, huh?” she laughs, surveying the battlefield. “It looks like he won!”

“I let him win!” I shoot back, and then realise how ridiculous it is that I’m defending my loss in a food fight that didn’t even happen.

Emma raises an eyebrow, but indulges me. “Mmhmm, s _ure you did_.”

I laugh. Not a hysterical kind of laugh, thank god. Just a soft, musical strain that flutters off my lips as my gaze lingers over her.

Her presence is like a balm for my broken soul, chasing away the nervous insanity of the last few hours.

“Uh, where should I put this?” She holds up a bottle of red. “I brought wine because you didn’t seem too taken with the beer the other day…”

My smile widens at her thoughtfulness, and I cross the kitchen to take it from her. She hands it to me, but before she quite lets go of it, she hesitantly reaches out to my face with her free hand. Startled, I freeze. Very slowly, she runs her thumb across a flour smudge on my cheek, brushing it away. Her fingertips alight along the side of my jaw, light as feathers.

They linger just a little longer than necessary.

My eyes are fixed on hers, and I can’t breathe. She hesitates, but then she trails her fingers across, softly tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The air between us is electric; I don’t dare move for fear of catching fire. She looks up at me from beneath heavy lashes; her breath-taking green eyes seeking answers to questions she doesn’t understand.

I wonder what the _hell_ has gotten into her.

Clearly she wonders the same thing because suddenly she breaks away.

“Jeez, I’m sorry!” She releases the wine bottle as if she’s been burned. “I – you… had some flour… uh…”

Reality hits me in a rush; my heart hammers a symphony against my ribs.

“Of course,” I shake my head breathlessly, “Of course! Food fight… Henry…”

“Y-yeah, of course,” she says. She blushes furiously, backing up against the table behind her. She grips it with both hands, chewing at her lip and avoiding eye contact.

I spin away, quick to busy myself with opening the wine. But my hands tremble and I fumble with the corkscrew. I curse under my breath as I realise the rest of me is shaking too. On the spike of my emotions, dizziness rises. Colours run behind my eyes, and I dip my head in a bid to quell the spinning sensation. I release the bottle to clutch the side of the counter instead, trying with everything I have to settle down.

“Regina…?” Emma says uncertainly.

I falter, feeling faint, but suddenly Emma is beside me, helping me toward one of the kitchen stools despite my feeble resistance.

“Sit down, before you fall down,” she says, manhandling me onto a seat.

I sit. With a small groan, I lean my elbows on the tabletop and bury my head in my hands.

_Could this day GET any worse?_

Quickly, Emma makes a cup of strong, sweet tea. She lays a hand on my shoulder to make me lift my head from its refuge and then presses the mug between my trembling fingers. She sits down on the seat next to me – closer than I would like her to be.

_And not nearly close enough._

She falls silent, staring at me. I look at her sideways and have no idea what to say.

“You okay?” she asks, at length.

I nod and sip at the tea, still not trusting myself to speak. The warmth of the sweet brew pushes some colour back into my cheeks, reviving me. Emma assesses me with her green, green eyes - and then cracks a smile.

“Oh, _I’m_ sorry, Madame Mayor,” she smirks, “I had no idea I had such an effect on you.”

 _Oh! The cheek of it!_ I look at her sideways again, but with one eyebrow raised this time.

“I’m simply lightheaded from all the flour I’ve inhaled, dear,” I sneer.

“The flour, _right_ ,” Emma snorts. She gets up to grab herself a beer, pops it open, and then returns to her seat.

I’m not sure, but I think she inched her stool closer to mine when she sat back down.

Instantly, I raise my guard; something is definitely off. She’s _never_ come around so quickly before.

“You’re cocky, all of a sudden!” I snap, putting my teacup down. I sit upright and fold my arms defensively.

Emma’s cheeks turn crimson, and she drops her gaze. I realize, too late, that she was merely trying to defray the awkwardness with a bit of mild banter – and I just made it awkward again.

_Way to go, Regina. God, why are you always so defensive?_

But Emma looks up again, and her beautiful eyes softly meet my own. She seems at war with herself, chewing at her lip as if undecided about something. At last, she takes a deep breath.

“I had a dream last night,” she says - so quietly that I wonder if she even wants me to hear. “It was dark, so dark… and I was alone.” She drops her gaze to her drink, and raises it briefly to her lips before she continues. “I was… lost… in a room - a prison. I raised my arms to beat at the door, but they weren’t arms... they were wings. And I was a swan.”

She looks sharply up at me.

“You were there, Regina. On the other side of the bars. I could see you shouting, but no sound came from your lips. You were frantic, trying to pull down the walls; trying to reach me.”

I’m fairly sure my jaw is hanging open, but I find myself helpless to respond. _I suspected something was off, but I couldn’t have guessed at a revelation like THAT._

She leans forward, as if trying to see into my soul. Her eyes are luminous. “You were there, Regina,” she whispers. “I was a swan, and you were trying to save me... Why were you trying to save me…? Why was it _you_?”

My breath hitches in my throat; a single tear rolls down my cheek. But I can’t find words.

“Regina…?”

I shake my head, clear my throat. I have no idea what to say, so I drain my teacup and quickly abandon my seat to take it to the sink. I don’t make it, though; Emma catches me by the arm.

“ _Regina_.”

I sigh at the warning in her tone, and turn back to face her. She flickers her gaze meaningfully at my recently vacated seat, and I sit back down.

“You wanna explain to me what’s going on?” she says. “Because _something_ is going on. I don’t feel – _right..._ And I think you know why.”

I sigh. “If I tell you, you’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“I already think you’re crazy,” Emma scoffs. “Try me.”

_One shot. Don’t mess this up._

I place my teacup down and school my expression into the face of the Queen. I need that haughty coolness to keep me in one piece through what happens next. Emma notices the change in my demeanour, but she doesn’t comment. She fiddles with her beer bottle, cradled in her lap, but she holds my gaze.

“How do you feel about magic?” I ask, folding my arms.

I caught her off-guard with that one; her face registers her surprise.

“Wait, are you going to tell me I’m having strange dreams thanks to _magic_?” she scowls. She thinks I’m toying with her.

“Yes and no,” I respond calmly. “More as a result of _failing_ magic - I hope.”

“Regina.” Her scowl darkens. “Can you be serious for a second, please?”

“I am serious.” Without warning, I ignite a fireball in my palm. “ _Deadly_ , serious.”

Emma leans as far back as she can go without toppling off her stool.

“How did you…?” Her eyes are wide, like she can’t believe what she’s seeing.

Impatient, I snap my fist closed to extinguish the fire. With a twirl of my fingers, I conjure a single rose for her, red as the flame. I hold it out, and she takes it gingerly.

“It’s real, Miss Swan. So was the fire. It’s magic.”

She rolls the rose through her fingers, disbelieving. Then, she registers the other part of what I just said.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” she asks.

“Miss Swan?” I raise my eyebrows. “Because that is your name - Emma Swan.”

She starts and sits stiffly upright, like something has prickled her. She stares at me. She presses the bloom beneath her nose, inhaling its heady perfume.

“Say it again,” she whispers.

It’s a challenge.

“Your name,” I say, with quiet determination, “Is Emma Swan.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head.

I purse my lips in frustration, ready to argue the point. But she’s not finished, and her next words sink into my very soul.

“No,” she repeats, quietly. “I think you might mean _Swan-Mills_.”


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m sorry - _what did you say_?”

I can’t possibly have heard that right. I stare at Emma, feeling a whole new level of emotional turmoil surge through me. Her words replay through my mind, agitating my fluttering heart again, and again.

_Swan-Mills. Swan-Mills. Swan-Mills._

I fight to keep my face passive, to hide the deluge of emotion behind the cool mask of the Queen.

I feel like I’m coming undone.

Emma’s earnest gaze begs for understanding, as if she thinks it might be she who is crazy after all. She shakes her head in bewilderment and leaps to her feet, crossing the kitchen with quick strides to lean against the opposite counter.

_As far away as she can get._

Her eyes dart to and fro, as if she’s trying to pin down fitful thoughts – dreams, memories, things that make no sense. She sucks in her cheek and I can see the panic rising in her eyes. Her distress is the spark I need to crush my own emotions mercilessly into a corner, and I get to my feet. Raising my hands in quiet supplication, I approach carefully so as not to spook her more.

She freezes with her back pressed against the counter, panting like a trapped cat. Her wild, suspicious eyes fix upon me, trying to understand, trying to feel sane.

“I’m so sorry!” she says hoarsely, “I don’t know what on earth possessed me to say that…” The words fight her, as if they don’t wish to be said out loud. “I… I’m sorry, Regina. I feel like I’m two people, or like I’m going insane or – s-something’s wrong with me.”

She lifts her arms to bury her face in her hands, and I close the distance between us.

“Oh, Emma…” I whisper, reaching out to touch her shoulder, “Nothing’s wrong with you…” 

She drops her hands and lifts her head to look at me. Her green eyes shine with tears, but her lip quivers and she fights not to cry.

“Then what is it?! I feel like I _know_ you, Regina… but I’ve only just met you - I can’t possibly know you…!” A shiver escapes her – a portent for inexplicable things. Her voice drops to the barest whisper. “So why does it feel like I do…?”

My heart aches at seeing fear and confusion etched so clearly upon her face. It’s so _hard_ to remain aloof, to keep my distance… but I’m trying to respect her position, to remember that she doesn’t know she knows me like that. I don’t know quite what to do, so I settle upon simply offering a small comfort. I move my hand up to cup her cheek in a gesture of friendly concern. She closes her eyes for a moment, leaning into the warmth of my fingers, but then a wracking sob escapes her.

Without warning, she tumbles into my arms.

I react instinctively, the way I have a thousand times before. My arms lace around her of their own accord, holding her tight, holding her together. She clings to me, burying her face into my chest, and her tears cascade with vengeful intensity as if they’ve been chained up for a lifetime. The release of her emotion finally brings me irrevocably undone, and my own tears rain down into her mane of golden hair. Together - and yet worlds apart - we weep for our forgotten love.

 _I don’t know which is worse,_ _crying for a love you know you’ve lost, or crying for a love you’re not sure you remember._

Finally, she stills. Her tears slow to a silent trickle, but she doesn’t let go of me.

Not yet.

 _I don’t want her to ever let go_.

But nothing lasts forever and at last her grip relents. She steps back and wipes at her tear-stained cheeks with her sleeve. I reach for the kitchen towel and hold it out for her. She takes it gratefully, dabbing gingerly at her subtle eyeliner, which has smeared beneath each eye. She holds it out for me, but I make no move to wipe away my own tears.

“My makeup is so far beyond salvaging at this point, it’s a joke,” I shrug.

Emma manages a small smile at my attempted humour, but it’s weak, and fades quickly. She toys with the cloth, running it absently through her fingers.

“You didn’t really have a food fight, did you?” she says quietly. She raises her gaze, questioningly, and I feel a strong need to keep no secrets from her.

“No,” I sigh. I move away from her and sit down again, rubbing my palms across my thighs as I prepare for blatant honesty. “I knocked the bowl off the counter by accident, and Henry retreated around the time I dissolved into manic tears and laughter.” I look up at her, hoping she’ll understand. “My emotions were running rampant because I knew you were coming... I wanted this dinner to be perfect. To get you to trust me. To… remember me… somehow.”

Emma’s face is, for a change, hard to read. I wait with bated breath for her to respond. She comes to sit on the seat beside mine, and reaches for my hand. Her touch is friendly, but a little formal.

I feel another crack run through my aching heart.

“Regina,” she says, in a tone of voice that makes me suspect the worst, “I _don’t_ remember you.”

My heart double-skips, and I swallow back a fresh threat of tears. But with every ounce of control I have, I keep my composure. _You are a Queen. Act like it._

“I know-” I start to nod, but she raises an eyebrow at me. A warning that she’s not done talking yet. I break off, swallowing my rising words.

Satisfied, she squeezes my fingers, and continues.

“I don’t remember you, and yet, I remember that I should.” She frowns, concentrating on her words, trying to explain the conundrum she’s found herself in. “I feel like there’s this huge hole in my life, like I’ve lost things that mattered a whole lot to me – people I love… my identity... everything. I keep getting these weird feelings of, like, déjà vu. And always, in the shadow of my mind-” she fixes her burning green eyes on mine “-there’s you.”

She shifts in her seat, facing me fully.

I’m reminded of the time when she sat like this to tell me she was in love with me, the very first time. My façade collapses beneath the storm of my emotions, and then the Queen abandons me. The Mayor, too. I find myself stripped bare of all my shields, and then I’m just a heartbroken wreck, hanging on to the words of the woman I love.

She reaches out to stroke my cheek in quiet sympathy. “I can see that whatever this is has taken a hell of a toll on you, Regina… and it’s _that_ which makes me believe it’s true. Part of what I’ve lost is you, isn’t it?”

I smile through a soft sob. “You haven’t lost me, Emma. I’m right here.”

She smiles, and silent tears curl down her cheeks. “You know what I mean.” She tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I don’t remember much of anything, but I get that there’s more to all this than meets the eye. When I look at you, I – I don’t know… something inside me stirs. Something that feels like it’s been drugged, but is fighting to get back to you. Am I close?”

I bring her fingers to my lips and, very gently, brush them with a kiss. “Pretty close… We’re married, Emma.”

Her eyes take on a new depth, as if she can see into my soul. Softly, she pulls her hand free from mine and cups the side of my face. She pushes her fingers back into my hair and leans across to rest her forehead against mine. I close my eyes, afraid to breathe.

And then her lips meet mine. I respond with hesitant delight; my gentle fingers quest up through her golden hair. Her lips are soft, uncertain.

It’s nothing more than a simple kiss, and yet, it’s everything.

She leans back to look at me.

“How come,” she whispers, “Even when you look like shit, you’re still so beautiful?”

I hiccough a laugh, half tearful. I’m blushing, but I’m not sure she can tell beneath the flour and smears of mascara.

“You’re perfect,” she smiles softly, rubbing the back of my hand with her thumb, “Oh, Regina… I want so badly to remember!”

I draw in a breath to settle my fragile heart. “You will,” I say, more resolutely than I feel. “You have before.”

Her face darkens. “This has happened before?”

I hold her gaze. “Yes. More than once. This is the fourth time, actually.”

She falls quiet, staring at me. I shift my weight uncomfortably on my chair, feeling like maybe I’ve said something wrong. A cold fury steals into her expression.

“You’ve been through this four times…?”

I nod once, afraid of shaking loose more tears. “Four times you’ve disappeared. And four times you’ve returned suddenly, stripped of your memories.”

“ _Four_ times?”

She gets up, restless, not wanting to face reality. She paces away from me, and then back again.

“Regina, this is crazy. How could this possibly happen?”

I fold my hands into my lap and keep my voice even. “A curse, I believe. I cast one vaguely similar once before, a long time ago. It’s the reason we met, actually.”

“Some kind of a love spell?” she says suspiciously.

I laugh. “Hell no. The absolute opposite. And yet, somehow, you still managed to find me.”

“But you didn’t cast _this_ curse?” she clarifies.

“Absolutely not,” I scoff.

“So who did, then?”

_It’s like being interrogated by the sheriff all over again._

I sigh.

“I don’t know, Emma, but I damn well intend to find out. And when I do…”

I feel my rage kindle in an instant as I think about the fact that somebody, somewhere out there, is keeping me away from Emma – again, and again. I’m not aware how dark and venomous my expression has become until Emma reaches out to touch my hand. I realise I’m scowling, and force my face to relax. Said perpetrator is already ruining my life, best not to let them ruin my complexion, too.

“I know it all sounds crazy,” I say resignedly, “And I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’m telling you the truth.”

“It does sound crazy,” she agrees, “But I’m pretty inclined to believe you.”

She fixes me with those emerald eyes, and I feel my insides melt.

_Goddammit, Emma. The things I wouldn’t do to make you mine again!_

“Well,” I sniff, composing myself, “In light of the mess, and the madness, what are the chances you’ll still stay for dinner?”

She smiles.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”


	9. Chapter 9

My smile is a little giddy as I get to my feet – I feel a lot like a kid on Christmas morning.

I glance across to see that Emma’s face echoes my school-girl grin.

“Another beer?” I ask lightly, turning away towards the fridge, “Or would you prefer some of the wine?”

But she challenges me unexpectedly. “Madame Mayor! Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?”

“Of course not!” I spin around, indignant at the notion. But then I realise her smile is flirtatious, and my own lips become coy. “Well… maybe?”

She laughs and winks. “It wouldn’t take much - I think you’re my type.”

My lips round into an ‘oh!’ of surprise as she crosses the room in one smooth movement. Before I can react, she catches me around the waist with both hands and crushes her mouth to mine. She pulls my submissive figure hard against hers and I melt into her, lost to the moment and absolutely powerless to resist. She claims my kiss, consuming me, setting me on fire with effortless ease. My heart pounds like the thunder of a thousand wild horses and my fingers tear through her hair of their own accord. My whole body burns for her touch.

Breathless, she tears her lips away. I gasp as I try to follow them with mine, but, with an effort, she holds me at arms-length. Her eyes are hooded, her voice husky.

“ _Wow_ , Regina,” she says, “You really are something!”

“ _I’m_ something?” I gasp, tilting towards her - _craving_ her. I have no diplomacy left; the intensity caught me by raw surprise, and I want her _now._ I’m panting, my eyes wide and wild with lust.

But she steps back, and I manage to take a deep breath, clutching at the closest counter for support.

I stifle a shudder of need, and we stare at each other for a long moment.

“I can see why I would have married you,” she quips. Her eyes sparkle as she spins away to pick up a dish towel.

My jaw drops. _God, she is unbelievable!_

I stand open-mouthed as she proceeds to wipe flour from the counter, as if that burning kiss didn’t just happen. My cheeks are flaming at being caught off-guard, but luckily (for my sanity), she’s spilling huge plumes of white down onto the floor in the process of cleaning. Watching the snowy mess consume the remainder of my kitchen floor drops me right back into reality as my OCD kicks in.

With a dark scowl, I sweep forward to relieve her of the cloth.

“Let me do that!” I command crossly, “You pour the wine.”

She smirks at me, dangling the cloth just out of reach, but I stare her down until she gives in. With a shrug, she tosses it at me and meanders off to busy herself with the corkscrew. I blow out heavily, pucker my mouth, and turn to the mess with my hands on my hips.

_How did it end up being SUCH a mess?!_

Suddenly, I remember another time the kitchen looked like this, and I blush a new depth of scarlet - Henry had been at a sleepover, and an attempt to show Emma how to bake properly had turned into… something more.

_A LOT more._

I bite my lip, trying to keep check of my plunging libido, and force myself to focus on the _present_ mess in the kitchen. I narrow my eyes. _It really is a bloody mess_.

I’m not usually one for magic of convenience but I feel the circumstances are extenuating, so I raise my arms and murmur a spell. A silent _woosh_ sweeps the room, leaving sparkling floors and counters in its wake. I fold my arms, satisfied, but suddenly a movement catches my eye and I half turn to see Henry standing in the doorway.

“MOM!” he exclaims, reproachful at my use of magic for household chores.

“Yeah?” Emma answers him before I can say a word. Her absent attention is fixated on opening the wine bottle; her response is automatic.

I double-take. My heart leaps to my throat. Henry’s calf-eyed gaze shoots to Emma. He freezes as she whips around. Her face is ashen; the wine bottle falls from her limp fingers. I catch it instinctively with a sharp barb of magic.

It hovers in mid-air as a heavy silence falls.

“M-mom…?” Henry repeats, his voice cracking.

Emma’s green eyes stand out sharply against her ghostly-pale face, darting through a storm of emotions. Her gaze flashes to me in unspoken question, and I manage a small nod. Emma’s gaze snaps back to Henry.

Unbelievably, a subtle hint of recognition crosses her face.

Suddenly, she’s crying. Henry’s crying _(I’m crying)_ and they race to meet each other halfway across the kitchen tiles. Emma slides to her knees to catch Henry in a bearhug as he nearly bowls her over. She clings to him with a vehemence I’ve never seen before.

Words fail me as I look on, torn up inside by emotions I can’t even begin to explain. One hand presses against my thundering heart, and I use the other to set the wine bottle back on the counter before I drop it, too. Emma murmurs our son’s name, over and over again. Henry’s bawling too hard to say anything; he simply clings to her as if he hopes to never let go again.

 _They remember?_ I shake my head incredulously. _They remember! How in the HELL did that happen?_

I’m terrified it’s a horrible trick, and it’s the most bittersweet moment of my life.

But it’s real - at least for the moment. Emma gets to her feet with Henry still wrapped around her, hugging him tight as tears stream down her face. Her cheek is pressed against his chestnut hair as she strokes his head, but her gaze finds its way up to me. I catch my breath at the depth of sorrow I see in her eyes; there’s none of the fight I love so much about her.

There is only an immense sadness, a delirious plea for everything to go back to normal.

“Regina…” her voice trembles, hardly a whisper, “Please, Regina… we have to fix this… Henry… Oh, Henry…”

She buries her face in his hair, and I feel my heart break in two. I sweep across the room to engulf them both, using all of my strength to hold my family together.

Eventually, Henry wriggles his head free, and his face pops up between us.

“Moms!” he coughs, “I can’t breathe!”

His theatrical gasping for air chases away the last of the tears, and then we’re all sharing in the joke. We grin at each other, and then I let go first. I feel like maybe they should have a moment, just the two of them.

“I’m going to go and freshen up,” I say. They look across at me, and I cast my gaze down my floury front meaningfully. Henry giggles, and I reach out to smooth his brown hair. “In the meantime, young man, will you keep Emma company for me?”

“Sure!” He switches his adoring gaze to Emma, and she ruffles his hair right back into a mess again, winking at me over his head.

I sigh good-naturedly, and, with a rueful shake of my head, proceed upstairs to do something about the state of me. I could magic it away, like the mess in the kitchen, but I want to give Emma and Henry time to bond.

Upstairs, I take my time in the shower. It’s piping hot, and the rhythmic water massages some of the tension out of my shoulders. I lather and rinse my hair, douse myself with myriad fresh-scented suds and lotions, and emerge without a speck of flour in sight.

Flicking through the wardrobe, I select a short, sleeveless dress in midnight blue, and pair it with a delicate silver necklace and wine-red lipstick. I eye the hairdryer, but decided to cheat just a little - because my hair is thick and takes ages to style traditionally. With a flick of my fingers, it’s dry, masterfully curling down to brush delicately across my shoulders. I pause to assess my image in the mirror, and my own smoky eyes stare back, looking me up and down.

_Yup, that’ll do._

Satisfied, I make my way back downstairs, following the sounds of gunfire and world-domination coming from the living room. Sure enough, I find Emma and Henry, guns blazing, destroying some poor civilization on the PlayStation. I pause in the doorway, leaning against the frame, allowing myself to soak up the moment – watching my wife and my son play video games together like there hasn’t been some secret evil tearing us all apart for _years_.

I purse my lips and push off from the doorframe, intent on heading back to the kitchen to finish dinner. But Emma’s head turns unerringly in my direction, despite the fact that she can’t possibly have heard me move over the noise of the TV. It’s as if she felt me watching her. She looks up, and her jaw drops. I school my smile to stay small and polite, but I want to smirk at her. The expression on her face leaves me in no doubt that my outfit is _perfect._

My lips twitch, and I turn around before I can give my smugness away. Behind me, I hear Emma scramble to her feet and mutter something to Henry, and I can’t resist. I look over my shoulder, catch her with a smouldering glare, and call for Henry’s attention before she can take a single step in my direction. He pauses the game, and Emma glowers at me sulkily as she stops beside him.

“Dinner’s ready,” I say to him, whilst winking effortlessly at her.

_Ha. Got you back for that surprise kiss earlier. Now who’s in control?_

Her mutinous face shows me that she definitely did have something in mind that would have involved Henry not being in the room, but unfortunately for her, he’s on his feet and padding over to me. I let my smugness trickle across my lips – just a hint – and Emma cocks her head wryly at me. Henry leads the way to the dining room, and I hover in the doorway so that Emma has to brush past me to follow him. I intend to tease her relentlessly, but in the split second that Henry disappears around the corner, Emma somehow manages to stop, push me against the wall, and kiss me, all at the same time. It’s brief, burning hot, and then she saunters off after our son, leaving me with my fingers pressed to my lips and my heart hammering against my ribs - wondering what the hell just happened.

_Dammit._

But I’m not even mad. My lips curl into a smile, and if I were a cat I’d probably purr. I make a brief diversion to the kitchen, and then follow them through.

Henry looks up expectantly as I walk in, bearing a large glass dish between thick red oven-gloves.

“What’s for dinner, mom?” he asks.

“Lasagna,” I smile.

“My favourite,” Emma says. She’s sitting looking very self-satisfied in the chair directly opposite, and I narrow my eyes playfully at her.

“It had better be,” I say, “After all the effort I put into making it.”

She laughs, and I put the dish down to start plating up. The lasagne, rich and herbed, doesn’t stand a chance, and soon I’m up again to fetch dessert.

When I come back through with a perfectly baked apple pie, Emma raises her eyebrows at me.

“How did you possibly find time to make that?” she says.

I cock my head at her, and, very deliberately, use my free hand to conjure a jug of thick cream for accompaniment. She grins at the magic trick, and holds out her plate. Henry, the spitting image of her, does the same.

“Hope it tastes like magic, too,” he grins.

“You bet it does,” I say, dishing him a large slice. I serve myself a delicate piece next, and then push the entire rest of the pie over to Emma, ignoring her outstretched plate.

I snort at her expression. “Right, like you’re _not_ going to eat all of that.”

“Fair point,” she shrugs, and digs into it directly in the pie dish.

I roll my eyes, but pass her the cream.

The evening is more magical than the apple pie – we laugh and joke and sit easy in each other’s company. Outside the windows, the night grows thick and dark, leaving us feeling warm and cosy in the brightly lit dining room. My mouth is stretched into a constant smile; I cannot contain my happiness at watching Henry and Emma banter together.

All too soon it gets late, and Henry has school in the morning. I’m sitting back in my chair, watching Emma animatedly tell him some joke that makes him snort his hot chocolate out of his nose, and wonder if I dare ask her if she’ll stay. My heart is happy, and I’m feeling brave, so I resolve I will - as soon as Henry goes to bed. With that in mind, I open my mouth to tell him it’s bedtime, but Emma suddenly jerks stiffly upright in her seat.

Henry shies away with a yelp, terrified at the sight of her white face and rolling eyes. She’s shaking uncontrollably, clutching at her head and whimpering. An unearthly scream starts to build in the back of her throat, and I leap to my feet, pulling Henry off the chair next to her to tuck him safely behind me. Urgently, I catch her by the shoulders, trying to stop her violent fitting. I can feel strange magic in the air, and I know something is very, very wrong.

“Emma!” my voice is high, scared, “Emma?!”

Abruptly, she pulls away from me, leaping up from her chair with a snarl. Her eyes are foreign, and her face is twisted with hatred.

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you?” she yells, “My name is _Emily_!”

I feel my heart stop, and I’m looking into the eyes of a stranger once more. Scowling darkly, inexplicably furious, Emma grabs her jacket off the back of the chair and storms from the room. Before Henry and I have a chance to say or do anything, the front door slams shut with cold finality. A dreadful silence falls, and it takes a long moment for my thoughts to catch up with my shock.

“Stay here!” I finally hiss at Henry.

He nods, his eyes huge, and I fly from the room. I fling the front door open and hurl myself out into the night, frantically tossing my head to and fro, searching for her. But she’s gone, disappeared into the darkness, and I collapse onto the porch step, burying my face in my arms as hot tears overwhelm me.

_Every moment, every touch, every tentative step forward…_

_All of it - annihilated in a heartbeat._

_WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!_

A small sound filters through my despair, and I fling my head up to search for the source. My nostrils flare - I can practically _smell_ the magic hovering in the air. Unerringly, my head swivels in the right direction. Across the street I see a silhouette, walking slowly away.

But my heart sinks, for it is not Emma.

Instead, it’s a cloaked stranger, an unknown effigy of evil. My hair stands on end at the tainted whisper of magic that surrounds it. The figure stops under a streetlamp and looks back in my direction. I squint my eyes as the dusky light illuminates a cruel smile and a malignant glare.

Recognition spurs me and I spring to my feet on a tide of savage fury.

I know who it is!

And suddenly, everything makes perfect sense.


	10. Chapter 10

I catch myself before I quite fly off the porch. My heart flutters like a caged bird, startled, seeking escape.

_It’s her._

_Of course it’s her - who the hell else would do such a damnable thing?_

My hands form fists at my sides in readiness, yet I know that one wrong move could cost me everything. I resolve to stand my ground and let her come to me.

“What have you done with her?” I growl out into the night, “Bring her back, or I will _end_ you.”

I can hear my heartbeat roaring in my ears, but it doesn’t drown out the soft, high tinkling of feminine laughter that floats back in response.

Across the street, half-cloaked in shadow, Cora stares me down.

_The Queen of Hearts, Murderess Extraordinaire, and - unfortunately - my Mother._

“Oh, Regina,” she smirks. She swirls her cloak aside and saunters towards me. Her steps are measured, menacing. “Have you honestly learnt _nothing…_? You really must pay _attention_ dear, or this will be like Daniel - all… over… again.”

I feel my face pale at the reference to my first love - the man my mother murdered, right before my eyes. I freeze, tormented by the memory, and she takes the advantage to draw nearer.

In my mind I see her kill him, over and over, but then suddenly it’s not Daniel anymore...

I see Cora ripping out Emma’s heart, instead.

At the sight of _Emma’s_ agonised face, a terrible fury overwhelms me - a surge of wrath the likes of which I’ve never felt before.

_No. Not Emma._

The rage banishes my crippling anxiety, and I ignite a savage ball of fire in each hand. Cora hesitates, her smug smile falters. Her eyes hold the barest hint of uncertainty as they flicker down to the flames.

“This will _not_ be like Daniel, mother. Perhaps you forget, but I am a far cry from the sixteen-year-old girl who once cowered before you.” I take a hostile step forward. “I’m all grown up, now, dear, and I will have your head for this. Where. Is. Emma?”

But Cora’s gaze snaps up, and her eyes narrow like an angry serpent.

“You dare threaten your own mother?” Her lip curls in distain. “Go on, then - do it…! But I promise you, you will never find Emma without my help.”

I hesitate, grinding my teeth, hating to admit the truth of her statement. My mother is an expert in dark magics, and if I kill her I may very well never get Emma back. I extinguish the flames and take a breath, trying to calm my seething fury enough to _think_.

“Fine,” I say at last. “What do you _want_?”

Cora taps her fingers along the garden gate as she swings it shut behind her. She licks at her lips, as if hungry for my pain. Leisurely, she strolls up the garden path and deliberately places one delicate foot upon the first step up to the porch. There is no room for her to ascend unless I step back, and she looks up at me in silent challenge. But I refuse to yield, so she sighs and drops her foot back to the path. She settles where she is instead, contenting herself with folding her hands beneath her cloak. I eye her warily, my nerves split to the last atom, suspecting a trap at any moment. My hands rest loosely at my sides, ready to flame to my defence.

“What do you _want_ , mother?” I repeat.

She pouts. “Regina... Why are you always so difficult? So wilful? So headstrong?” She sighs heavily, as if she cannot handle her disappointment. “Darling, do you remember _why_ you cast your curse in the first place?”

“Of course I do,” I snap, irritated by the irrelevant question.

“ _Of course you do_ ,” Cora laughs lightly, “Well, then, why are you sleeping with the daughter of your sworn enemy?”

A savage sound curdles in my throat. _How DARE she!_

“Things change.” My voice is harsh. I’m shaking with anger, yet I can’t seem to shake the need to justify myself to my mother. “Besides, Emma is far more to me than a booty call, and you KNOW that. We are married. She is my _wife_!”

My nails are digging into my palms, my skin prickles with righteous fury.

Cora remains unruffled.

“Is she?” she says calmly. “ _She_ doesn’t seem to think so.”

My eyes flash, and my temper threatens to escape me.

“Thanks to _you_!”

The accusation escapes me like the howl of a wounded animal. My hands curl into claws; I want to rip her throat out, never mind her heart.

“Now, now, Regina, is that any way for a Queen to conduct herself? You _do_ remember that you are a Queen, don’t you?”

I check myself. I can’t let her play my emotions like this; I take a breath and urge my brain to _think_.

“I was, once... Now I am simply a wife, a mother.” My scowl darkens. “I was happy, too - why are you so hell-bent on taking that from me?”

“Oh, listen to yourself!” Cora snaps impatiently. “ ‘ _I was, once…_ ’ – dear God, what is the matter with you? You are a _Queen_ , one of the most powerful Queens to have ever lived!” She shakes her head in irritation. “How you have let yourself be reduced to this-” she gestures to all of me with a dismissive wave “-mere _shell_ of your former glory, is frankly beyond my understanding. I find it hard to believe that you have deluded yourself into this shallow shadow of ‘happiness’… But - I will not let you derail your destiny!”

She suddenly mounts the steps, and I fall back in surprise. She catches the front of my dress with clawed fingers and pulls me unnervingly close. _Now, Regina – dammit, now!_ But I freeze beneath her stony gaze, like I’m sixteen again.

“Let me _remind_ you,” she hisses, “Of the lesson you really should have learnt by now…”

She releases me, pushes me back another step, and then leans forward with a cruel glint in her eyes. She jabs at my chest with each of her next words, snapping them out as if they are bitter on her tongue.

“Love. Is. Weakness.”

She straightens, tucks her cloak meticulously around herself, and glares disdainfully at me.

“This is the second time I have saved you from yourself, Regina. Now, without this Emma to stand in your way, you can finally eliminate your enemies and take back your kingdom.”

I find my voice abruptly as my subconscious rebels against her statement.

“ _Emma_ is my kingdom! And _you_ are my enemy.”

Cora’s eyes narrow.

“Perhaps you misheard me,” she growls, “You are a _Queen_ , and I expect better. Do. Not. Disappoint. Me.”

Her posture stiffens with finality and I realise she is about to spirit herself away, so I compel words to tumble from my lips in an effort to make her stay. _To give me a chance to take her down_.

“Do you think I care for your opinion of me?” I force myself to laugh. “You forfeited the right to _have_ an opinion the day you killed Daniel.”

“Still sore about that, are we?” she says. But she relaxes, content to toy with me a while longer. “Daniel was _weak_. Being around him made _you_ weak. In a way, I did you a favour.”

“How can you possibly look at it like that?” I fold my arms, coaxing my anger cool to something useful. _To look for an opening._

“Well…” she muses, “If I hadn’t crushed his heart, you would never have sworn revenge on Snow White for betraying your secret, wouldn’t have cast your curse, and… wouldn’t have met your precious Emma.”

“Whom _you_ have since abducted – _four times_ … Congratulations, I’m fairly certain you qualify for a ‘mother of the year’ award.”

“Don’t be unkind, Regina.”

I roll my eyes.

“What - you want me to say _thank you_?”

“That would be a start.”

“God, you are unbelievable!” I scoff. I turn my back like a child in tantrum – baiting her. _Come closer, let me swing around and rip your heart from your chest._

But she catches herself before she quite takes a step forward, realising that if she does she’ll step into range.

“I’m not here to play games, Regina,” she sighs, stepping away instead.

I turn back to face her, thwarted and mutinous.

At my expression, her voice becomes clipped and business-like. She’s running out of patience.

“My curse is almost complete, despite your meddling,” she says. “The countdown is nearly over – a few more days, at best. Then, Emma will disappear for the last time, and you can return to the business of destroying Snow White without further distraction.” She pauses to pout at me. “I miss you in the Enchanted Forest, darling… Finish what you started, and you can return at last. Then, we will rule _all_ the lands together. I’ve launched quite the campaign back home, you know; I think you’d find it rather entertaining.”

She stops suddenly, as if she’s thought of something delicious.

“Tell you what,” her spreading smile is sly and sickly-sweet, “Seeing as this girl means so much to you, I’ll make you a deal: If you kill Snow White and end this messy business of half-baked curses, I will give Emma back to you in the Enchanted Forest.” She reaches out to tilt my chin up, like she used to do when I was just a girl. “You may keep her as your plaything. How does that sound?”

But I slap her hand away, and her eyes fly wide in shock.

“It sounds like you are insane, mother dear. I have a different suggestion – perhaps you should simply return Emma to me, unharmed, and then I will only hurt you a little bit.”

Her face twists darkly. She straightens her cloak. I bridle, ready to fly at her.

“Very well. If you insist on being so difficult, I retract my offer. I think I’ll hold onto Emma a little longer – but don’t worry, darling, when the curse plays out to its crux, your memories of her will be erased and your pain will no longer trouble you. You will be back to your old self, strong, ruthless, and able to do what is necessary to _win._ ”

She smiles, but stays just a hair’s breadth out of my reach. She looks me over, like a predator waiting for her turn to feed.

“I gave you a choice, Regina, but as usual, you chose wrong. Nevertheless, I will have my way, in the end.” She shrugs nonchalantly, as if we’re discussing no more than the weather. “By the time the moon becomes full, the curse will reach its zenith. Emma will no longer exist, and you will not remember her - nor this conversation.”

I lunge for her at last, but she sweeps down off the porch, away to a safe distance. In the silver light of the waxing moon she turns her face upward, basking in its cold light.

“Tick, tock,” she smirks, and turns her vile gaze upon me once more. “Tick. Tock.”

With a wild cry I throw myself off the porch steps, hands aflame and spitting fire.

But she’s gone.

All that remains is a whisper of smoke, hanging in the thick night air.

I fall to my knees on the garden path, palms flat against the unforgiving earth. My magic, still burning, scorches the ground. I tilt my head up to the moon, and a tear trickles down my cheek, pearlescent in the pale light.

Cora has taken Emma.

Time is running out.

And I have no idea what to do.


	11. Chapter 11

The single tear splashes silently onto the dark ground as I bow my head in hopelessness. It swiftly soaks away into the charcoal remnants of my thwarted magic, and I watch vaguely as it disappears - just like my hope for saving Emma. My chest rises and falls slowly, each breath heavy with dread; I’m feeling too broken to cry, too helpless to rise up again.

I feel like the world has ended.

But a quiet shiver rouses me, a whisper of melody I hear more with my soul than as tangible sound. The damp stain of my tear spreads outward in a ripple, shimmering, growing. The magic soaked through it condenses, spiralling upward. I raise my head to follow its progress as it thickens into a shadow, and then suddenly I’m no longer alone.

Before me stands the other half of my soul, called forth by my despair.

The indomitable Evil Queen glares down at me, arms folded in severe disapproval.

“Get up, Regina,” she scowls.

But my shoulders slump. I don’t have the strength; I’ve no fight left in me. So she pushes her intimidating skirts aside and crouches down opposite me. Her eyes, my eyes, sear right back into my core. She regards me coolly, and then purses her lips.

“Fine. Let me help you, then,” she says darkly. “For Emma.”

I hold her gaze, beseeching, silently begging her to fix this mess that I cannot seem to. I can feel the darkness, coiling around my conscious, calling to me. But I’m afraid to let go. Emma accepts all of me, but even she is wary of the Evil Queen. Sometimes, my dark side is stronger than my will.

But it’s Emma whom I need to save...

_And I have to save her!_

I study my doppelganger for a moment more, hesitating, but my mind is already made up. I nod sharply, and stretch out my hand. The Evil Queen’s smile broadens, cruel and eager.

“For Emma,” I whisper, shutting out the light.

The Evil Queen takes my hand, lacing her fingers through mine with a gentle squeeze.

“It’s _my_ turn,” she croons with a malicious laugh, “Don’t worry, dear. _I_ will find Emma - and destroy Cora - if it is the _last_ thing I do.”

I hitch a breath, bracing myself as she crashes back into me. I feel her power collide with my core, flooding it, hurtling forth on a wave of dark magic. A deep tide of malice wipes out all fear, mercilessly chasing away thoughts of inadequacy. Hopelessness flees in a heartbeat, and I am revived. I push to my feet, flinging up my hands to pull the dark threads of the Queen’s magnificent dress around me. As the smoke of magic clears, I stand tall once more, a Queen in all her glory - regal, haughty, and ready to bring forth a whole world of hurt. My eyes flash open, ablaze with living shadow. I feel the darkness coursing through my veins, empowering my thirst for vengeance. I claw my hands, revelling in the sheer power hovering there, and I throw my head back and laugh.

 _Threaten Emma, will she?_ _Oh,_ w _e’ll just see about that!_

Curling my magic around my body, I teleport away through a hazy indigo cloud. I arrive a fractional heartbeat later in my Mayoral office, sighing with grim satisfaction. I straighten my shoulders and march over to my desk. I shove mountains of neat paperwork roughly aside and reach out towards a small black button on the corner of the desk. It’s encased in glass, and for emergency use only - but if _this_ isn’t an emergency then I don’t know what is.

I slam my fist down through a tinkle of shattering shards, heedless of the razor-sharp splinters slicing my palm. I hit the black button, and a siren on the roof screams in protest.

It calls the townspeople to the townhall.

I lift my injured hand with mild curiosity, watching the blood trickle down and drip from my fingers. It splashes across the sheets of white paper, a warning inked in ominous red. I smile darkly.

When I’m done, it won’t be _my_ blood on my hands.

I magic the cuts away and turn to leave, but I hesitate. I stare down in disapproval, then whisk the desk back into order as well. In any shape or form, I just can’t handle a mess.

Satisfied, I whirl myself away to the townhall, ready to command the impromptu meeting I’ve just summoned.

Hidden in shadow, I stand in the wings as the confused denizens of Storybrooke shuffle into the hall. Some are in nothing more than pyjamas and a hastily thrown-on coat in defence of the chill evening. They mingle awkwardly, exchanging hoarse whispers of alarm, wondering what on earth is going on.

They’re about to find out.

At last, every last straggler is through the door, and I materialize in the middle of the dais with a sweep of purple smoke. I glare down at the rag-tag group of peasants, and, with grim finality, use my magic to slam the doors shut behind them. The ominous thunderclap crushes the remnants of whispers as it echoes through the room.

The silence that follows is palpable. A sea of frightened faces stares up at me.

And, _of course_ , Mary-Margaret steps forward, with her damnable husband standing staunch at her side.

“Regina!” she calls, “What’s going on? Why are you dressed like a Disney Villain?”

She glowers up at me, her cherub cheeks pink in the cool air, and I swallow my irritation with an effort. Planting one hand on my hip, I swing a predatory gaze across the room to settle it, before turning my burning eyes back on the source of my annoyance.

“Don’t insult me, dear,” I sneer. “It won’t be the first time that ends badly for you.”

She opens her mouth to shoot off a heated reply, but I ignite a crackling fireball and hold it aloft in warning. David (wisely) slips an arm around her waist and gives her a cautionary nudge.

She sputters into mutinous silence and I raise my gaze to the rest of the room again.

My voice rings acid, my impatience is clear. “I have no time to waste explaining hidden truths to blind fools. My wife has been kidnapped, and you WILL all help me find her!”

I step to one side of the stage and conjure an apparition of Emma into existence in the space I’ve just vacated. Larger than life, the image of her turns slowly, encompassing the room.

“The new kindergarten teacher is your wife?” Mary-Margaret asks, squinting up.

Of course, thanks to the curse, she doesn’t recognise Emma beyond that - she doesn’t remember that she is Snow White, and that they are family.

But her interruption vexes me nonetheless - in that way that _absolutely anything_ SHE says can sometimes drive me to irrational fury - and my eyes snap daggers. I fly off the stage to catch her by the throat. My magic flings David aside before he can leap to her defence, and I raise her up until her toes barely brush the ground. I ignite a fireball in my free hand and the crowd shrinks back with a cry of terror.

Mary-Margaret gasps for air, staring down at me with large doe-eyes widened by fear.

“Your mind may be clouded by a curse, but allow me to jog your memory!” I seethe, turning her limp form in the direction of the stage. “ _THAT_ is your daughter up there! YOU should want to find her even more than I do!”

“I-don’t… have… a-daughter,” Mary-Margaret croaks in confusion. She clutches at my fingers as they dig into her skin.

But I release her with a scornful laugh, pushing her out of the way.

“I am not going to waste time arguing with you, dear. You can thank me later.”

I return my attention to the quivering crowd as Mary-Margaret massages her neck. I gesture up at the image of Emma, and project my voice powerfully across the room.

“This is Emma Swan. She has been kidnapped by-” I conjure a second image, of my mother “-Cora Mills, and I want to know where they are. _Immediately_. If anyone has any information as to either of their whereabouts, _now_ is the time to speak up.”

A deathly silence falls. I can hear feet shuffle nervously, but no one says a word. I sweep my electric gaze across the room, darkly furious at the lack of response, even though I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. No one moves under my scrutiny, frozen in place by fear.

“No one?” I snarl. “ _No one_ has seen either of these two women?”

Fire sparks at my fingertips. I can feel my rage growing by the second. But, luckily, I recognise the uniquely useful value of fear.

“Very well…” I hiss. “I will give you all _one_ _hour_ to find a clue as to their whereabouts. _Someone_ better tell me where they are by then, or I will tear this town apart, brick by brick… _person by person_ … until I find them.”

“Regina…” Mary-Margaret steps forward again despite David’s attempt to stop her. “This is madness! What’s gotten into you?”

My voice is gravelled, thick with warning. “Stand down, Mary-Margaret, or I will have to make an example of you.”

But she lifts her chin with insolent courage, and I laugh in dark delight. I swing my arm and a blast of magic knocks her off her feet, sending her flying across the room to collide with a handful of dwarves. They all topple into a heap like so many skittles and my smile widens.

Nothing makes me feel better like throwing my arch enemy across a room.

_Oh, I’ve missed being evil!_

I flick my fingers abrasively and the hall doors slam open with a crash. The crowd jumps, but their flustered attention is quick to return to me, and they remain in place. I turn my back, ascending the stairs of the dais in a stately fashion. I conjure myself a throne in the centre, directly in front of the images of Emma and Cora. I pause as I reach it, and turn theatrically back to the room.

“Well?” I prompt, raising my eyebrows as high as they’ll go. “One hour, remember. What are you waiting for?”

The room erupts into a panicked frenzy of movement, and I sit down on my throne, watching the carnage with mild amusement.

I meant every word I said - I have absolutely no qualms about tearing Storybrooke apart. But I know that fear has an odd way of achieving results that other approaches might not. It’s entirely possible that one of these bumbling fools will turn up something useful, and I’m content to wait an hour.

I know that Cora will not hurt Emma in the interim, she’s using her for leverage to win me back.

 _But what she doesn’t realise_ \- and I grin to myself - _is that she really doesn’t WANT me back_.

I lean against the lush chairback and throw one leg over the other, smiling evilly.

_Oh-ho, yes..._

_It’s going to be one HELL of a family reunion!_


	12. Chaper 12

I fidget in my conjured throne, staring out across the empty room. I glance at the clock across the hall and then lean my chin on the heel of one hand with an exaggerated sigh. My foot swings rhythmically, in tune with the slow minutes ticking by. I inspect my nails, chew on my lip, blow my hair out of my eyes…

At last, I decide that it’s been long enough. I haven’t the patience to wait a full hour, after all, but luckily I’m a Queen and perfectly entitled to change my mind.

_Time’s up._

I swirl to my feet on a tide of dark magic, more than ready to launch myself into the systematic destruction of Storybrooke. I’m so looking forward to wielding my formidable power, to wreaking havoc, that it overwhelms my eagerness to find Emma.

_Well, almost._

My heart stutters even as I think that last thought, and I scowl as I realise I’m lying to myself. As much as being Evil pleases me, Emma matters more.

_She is everything._

I hold that realisation close, letting it fuel my righteous fury. _If Cora has harmed one hair on her head..._

My body stiffens, suffused with my magic as I prepare to teleport, but suddenly the door bangs open and a dwarf falls through in a flat spin.

It’s Leroy. _Great._ I like him almost as much as I like Snow White.

“Regina!” he gasps, doubling over with a wheeze. Clearly, he ran here, and can’t catch his breath.

_Serves him right for not staying in better shape._

Glaring at him, I growl, “It’s ‘Your Majesty’.”

He grates another staggering breath, rests his hands on his knees, and manages to shoot a death-stare up at me. “Listen, Sister, do you wanna hear what I have to say, or not?”

I roll my eyes at his grumpy melodrama and step lightly down from the stage. I cross the room with precise strides and come to a halt with my hands on my hips, glowering down at him. His face pales as I loom over him, and I smile with dark satisfaction at the fear etched onto his face.

“Well?” I say sweetly, “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to tear it out of you? I assure you… nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

I lace my fingers together and crack my knuckles as if ready to annihilate him. He gulps.

“Alright, alright!” he says hastily. He pulls himself as upright as his short, stocky build will allow and lowers his voice. He glances furtively around. “There’s something strange down at the harbour, Sister… You’d better come and see.”

“The harbour?” I say, narrowing my eyes.

_That actually makes sense, though - the most likely place to enter Storybrooke from another realm would indeed be over the sea. I just hadn’t realised it was possible._

Leroy opens his mouth to reiterate, but I pull dark strands of magic around me and evaporate before he has the chance. I’m done listening to the munchkin babble.

A blast of icy wind hits me as I reappear on the dock. The air is heavy with scents of brine and seaweed. I take a deep breath, revelling in the fresh, crisp smell of the ocean, and flash my gaze across the salt-stained wood of the pier. I step gamely out across the slippery wharf, scrutinizing each bollard as I pass. I’m not quite sure what I’m looking for, but whatever it is will doubtless be quite obvious - considering a _dwarf_ managed to notice it.

A few more strides, and I prove myself right.

Towards the end of the pier, on the bollard third from last, there is a mooring line attached to… nothing. The thick coil of rope dips and lifts seemingly of its own accord, straining against the swell of the sea. Although it is pulled taut, it does not seem to be holding anything; it simply stretches out above the water and then disappears abruptly in mid-air.

My brow creases in grim satisfaction. I recognise a cloaking spell when I see it, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that there’s an invisible ship right in front of me.

_But leaving a coil of rope sticking out? Sloppy, mother._

I hitch up my skirts and march brusquely forth, stopping when I’m roughly where I think the mid-point of the ship should be. With theatrical flourish, I sweep one hand through the air and tear a gaping hole in the spell.

_Too easy, really._

There is a strong smell of sulphur as my magic slices through my mother’s. The air rips jaggedly, like slashing open a mirror, and then the end of a short gangway appears at my feet. It stretches away until it dissolves into the fabric of the spell. I can’t see the ship itself, but I know it’s on the other side of the fissure I’ve created.

I lift my skirts to mount the gangplank, but a subtle creak makes me jerk my head up. I brace myself as a woman materialises off the invisible ship, hurtling towards me with a threatening snarl. In the flash of a second before we collide, I notice only a thick, hooded cloak, hiding an unknown face.

I react to the threat instinctively, catching the stranger by the throat with one hand and ripping her heart clear out of her chest with the other. My magic hovers darkly, smug in its destructiveness. She dangles limply in my grasp, abruptly devoid of fight, her face drained of colour.

And then I realise my mistake.

Awkwardly, I put Ruby’s heart back. I release her, and then dust off my hands to cover my embarrassment.

“What are _you_ doing here?” I mutter irritably. “I could have killed you!”

Though I’m feeling a bit silly for making such a blunder, I will _never_ admit to it. _And it serves her right for surprising me like that._

Ruby fights for breath, clutching at her chest and shaking uncontrollably. She stares up at me, eyes wide with fright, trying to compose herself. Perhaps if she’d been in werewolf form she would have stood a better chance.

 _Then again, probably not_.

I cross my arms as I watch her try to steady herself, and then roll my eyes impatiently. “Oh don’t be such a drama queen - you’re fine.”

She pushes herself upright under my scrutiny, forcing herself to look me in the eye.

“S-sorry, Regina, I didn’t realise it was you,” she stammers at last.

“Luckily for you it _was_ me,” I scoff, “Or you’d be dead. What the hell are you doing here all on your own?”

“Following my nose,” she says sheepishly. She holds up a t-shirt. “This is Emily’s. I was tracking her scent and-”

I snatch it off her, my face contorting with fury. “Her name is EMMA – and where did you get this?!”

Ruby blushes scarlet. “Oh, um, I picked it up from her room. You know she was staying at Granny’s and, well, I clean the rooms, so, uh, I have an extra key…” She holds her hands up defensively. “I just wanted to help – I… like her.”

Darkness roars within me and without warning I catch her savagely by the throat once more. She goes rigid, and I pull her close, whispering ominously into her ear.

“Maybe I _will_ kill you, after all…” She whimpers as I dig my nails into her fair skin. But I lessen my grip before I quite draw blood. She did find the ship, after all. “This is your one and only warning: Emma is _mine_.”

Point made, I push her roughly away and she scurries to stumble out of reach. I brush down my skirts and square my shoulders, ready to get back to the business at hand.

“Well,” I snarl, gesturing to the ship, “What did you find?”

Afraid to provoke me further, Ruby tumbles over her rapid response. “The boat’s empty - didn’t see a soul. The scent is old, too.”

I narrow my eyes at her and she shrinks back further. Without another word, I board the ship to see for myself.

As I step through the edge of the spell, an odd silence descends. I tuck Emma’s shirt into the edge of my corset and step lightly, heedful of my surroundings. Magic sparks at my fingertips; there could be enemies lurking in every corner. But a swift check below deck, inside the captain’s cabin, and through the galley, reveals that Ruby was right.

No sign of Cora, nor any possible minion she might have sequestered into her control, and certainly no sign of Emma.

_Of course not. That would have been FAR too easy._

I remind myself that it’s my mother I’m dealing with, after all.

“Alright,” I say as I march back down the gangplank, “Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.”

Ruby looks at me questioningly, and I smile grimly and hold up Emma’s t-shirt. With my brow creased in concentration, I murmur a locator spell over it. It trembles and tugs itself into the air, and I release it as it gains energy. It hovers uncertainly for a moment, and then wafts away towards Storybrooke town like a leaf tumbling on an autumn breeze. I glance at Ruby, who nods sharply and sets off in pursuit. I march behind, keeping an eye on her and the shirt both.

We trek the length of the harbour, back through town, and finally come to a halt outside Granny’s. The flying t-shirt bumps repeatedly against the closed door of the diner, and I call my magic to my fingertips. My instincts tell me something is amiss, but I have no idea what it could be.

Ruby turns back to me. “This doesn’t make any sense... I was just here, and there was no sign of Emi- I mean, _Emma_ \- anywhere?”

“The locator spell is never wrong,” I snap.

But it does seem very odd that it has brought us _here_. Pursing my lips, I curl my fingers to ignite a fireball as I follow the t-shirt up the stairs.

Grimly, I brace myself and reach for the handle - but the door bursts open before I can touch it. A flustered Granny accosts me from the other side, and I extinguish the fireball in my palm before I incinerate her accidentally.

“Regina!” she huffs, “Are you responsible for this possessed rag trying to barge its way into my diner?” She squints over my shoulder at her granddaughter. “Ruby, what’s going on?”

The t-shirt swoops quickly over her head and through the now-open door, and I disdain to answer as I surge after it. I shoulder her roughly aside in pursuit of the object of my attention and Granny sputters something unintelligible behind me. The shirt plunges down beyond the service counter, and I follow it quickly.

But on the other side it flops to the floor and falls still, as if the spell has run out of juice.

_Hmm._

_THAT’S never happened before._

I circle around it warily, frowning in consternation. Cautiously, I bend down to prod it aside. _Am I imagining that I can see the outline of a trapdoor set artfully into the veneered floorboards…?_ Ruby’s footsteps follow me over.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I think there’s a door here…” I respond, “Did you know there was a door here…?”

I reach out to run my finger along the piece that doesn’t quite seem to fit, and the roughness of a seam confirms my suspicions. There is definitely a trapdoor in front of me, expertly camouflaged.

Suddenly, a strangled cry escapes Ruby. I swirl to my feet in alarm as she collapses with a thud behind me.

But I’m too late.

Something heavy catches me across the back of my head even as I leap upright, and I drop back down on the spot. My head swims, and the last thing I remember before I slump into unconsciousness is ‘Granny’s’ face, morphing back into Cora’s with the ghost of an evil smile.

From a million miles away, I hear her voice, tutting over my prostrate form.

“Oh, Regina, darling… When will you ever learn?”


	13. Chapter 13

From somewhere very far away, muffled by my clouded mind, I hear the clock bell chime. The muted tolling rouses me and a low groan escapes me. I shift uncomfortably on a hard floor, wondering where the hell I am.

_Oh, God. Everything hurts…_

_How long have I been out?’_

Pressing both hands to my throbbing head, I try to blink the inky blackness from my eyes. It takes me a minute before I realise the whole room is dark, and not just my vision. Gradually, my eyes adjust to the gloom, but I’m distracted by the feel of a sticky wetness oozing under my fingers. I pull one hand down from the crown of my head to inspect it.

_Yup - blood. Great._

Wincing, I cast a soft spell over the wound to stop the bleeding, and then wipe my hands on the skirts of my dress… One of the reasons black is my preferred colour - it doesn’t show the bloodstains.

I take a moment to assess the rest of me. My body aches all over, but not more than basic bruising – obviously just from being manhandled down to wherever this is. Satisfied that I’m in no immediate mortal peril, I push myself slowly into a sitting position, using the wall behind me for support. It’s rough-hewn and feels like pure rock - not the most comfortable thing to lean on, but it keeps me upright as a mild wave of dizziness engulfs me.

_God, my head hurts._

The bleeding has stopped, but my head throbs with a persistent staccato, keeping time with the heavy beat of my heart.

_Wish I’d paid more attention to healing magic, instead of being so consumed by the dark arts._

But I didn’t, and it’s too late now. Gritting my teeth, I slump carefully against the unforgiving wall at my back and raise my gaze to look around the murky room.

The first thing I notice is that I am in a cage. Gigantic iron poles, thick as a man’s forearm, pin me in on three sides. The last side is the wall I’m leaning against. The imposing bars shimmer darkly; I can tell without testing them that they are imbued with some kind of a charm.

I purse my lips and throw a small ball of fire at them anyway. It fizzes and dies before it even reaches the bars, confirming what I already know.

_A spell, to keep my magic - and me - in._

_Well, that’s not good._

But the brief, bright spark illuminates the room, and on the opposite side I see another cage. I spring to my feet without a care for my injured head and throw myself against the imposing bars. They’re hot against my skin, simmering with prickly warning, but I grip them with white-knuckled intensity regardless.

Urgently, I ignite a second fireball and raise it high above my head. As it slowly brightens the room, I squint impatiently to see through the darkness.

My eyes widen. I was not mistaken.

_Emma!_

In the opposite cage, the blonde is lying curled on her side, motionless. Her back is to me, and I can’t see from here if she is breathing or not. My heartrate skyrockets.

“Emma!” I hiss.

She doesn’t move. I try again, a little more desperately.

“Emma…!” My voice cracks under the strain of projecting the whisper, but this time she stirs. My heart bucks wildly against my ribcage in relief.

She half-lifts her head, but then shakes it despairingly and curls up tighter with a heavy sigh. She doesn’t even try to get up. The darkness in me is annoyed by her lack of response, and I growl her name once more, far more forcefully.

“ _Emma_!” 

It’s almost a command. Shot by surprise, she rolls over, and then she’s looking across at me with an expression of utter disbelief etched onto her face.

“Regina…?” She scrambles to her feet and flings herself against the bars of her cage, staring with wildly hopeful eyes. “Are you really here?”

“What does it look like, Miss. Swan?” I snap.

But she smiles and presses her forehead against the bars, looking up at me with a shy, heartfelt expression. My edginess evaporates in an instant.

“You came,” she breathes, and every emotion she’s ever held for me shimmers through the air in the wake of her words.

Soft tears roll down her cheeks, and suddenly I realise that it’s her - that it’s _really_ her.

_All of her_.

My mouth hangs open. The darkness takes pause within me, caught by surprise. My own tears well up and I stare back, speechless.

“I’ve missed you,” she murmurs into the silence. Her green eyes are aglow with sadness and longing.

My heart roars to the surface at her words, crushing away the uncertain darkness of my soul. With a silent snarl, the Evil Queen backs off, abandoning me to the moment. Weak with relief, I slump to my knees through a plume of purple smoke; the dark dress gone, replaced by the everyday clothes of Regina. My face is damp with tears. A smile, ecstatic but heartbroken all at once, trembles on my lips. I cling to the hot bars to stay even half upright.

“Oh, Emma!” I whisper, “It’s you… Oh, God, it’s you…”

She nods. A timorous smile ghosts her lips beneath her tears. “It’s me.” She pulls herself up against the bars, looking me over as best she can in the gloomy light. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

Automatically, I touch my fingers to the bump on the back of my head, but the blood is dry. It hurts, but I nod carefully.

“I’m fine,” I say, staring at her. I can’t believe it’s really her. “You… you remember…? Wait, what do you remember-?”

“You.” Her affirmation is instantaneous, slicing through my doubts. “I remember _you_ , Regina.”

A sob escapes me, my watery smile trembles. I’m crying, but happy tears. I feel like my heart might explode and I shake my head in breathless wonder to hear her say my name like _that_.

_God, I’ve missed the sweet music of affection in her voice._

My lips part to respond, but a loud, sarcastic clapping dashes me back to reality, ruining the moment.

Cora steps into view, her face contorted with grim amusement.

“Well, well, well… isn’t this _so_ sweet?” she smiles. Her voice is thick with poisoned honey. “The lovers’ bittersweet reunion, moments before their love is destroyed, _forever_.”

Emma smashes her fists against the cage in hateful frustration.

“You bitch!” she growls, “When I get out of here, I’m gonna-”

But Cora knocks her to her knees with a savage flash of magic before she can finish. Emma’s eyes fly wide; she clutches at her neck, fighting to breathe.

“Tut, tut,” Cora sneers, “You _must_ learn some manners, dear.”

“Mother!” I snarl, leaping to my feet, my face pale to watch Emma struggle, “Stop it!”

Cora looks at me sideways with an eyebrow raised. I swallow venom. I know what she’s waiting for, and I force the word out - for Emma’s sake.

“Stop it… _please_.”

Cora extinguishes her magic with a haughty huff and Emma drops down, spluttering and gasping great rushes of air. Nonchalant, my mother turns her back on her and strolls in my direction. She reaches out to my hands, still clutching the bars, and covers my fingers with her own before I can pull away. She squeezes tight, holding me within range.

“Regina, dear, so glad to see you’re up and about at last.” Her eyes glitter, her smile is venomous, belying her words. “You’re just in time – all is prepared, the moon is rising, mere moments separate you from _freedom_.”

I realise she means freedom from Emma, and my rage explodes in a whirl of fire. But Cora stares me down through the blaze, unscathed as the flames leap high, yet trapped on my side of the bars. She laughs as the fire dies down again, and then patting my hand condescendingly.

“The cage is charmed, darling. Your magic is useless.”

She winks and releases me.

“I just have one more teensy-tinsey bit of business left to attend to – unrelated, don’t you worry, darling – and then I’ll be back for the final show. I have a front-row ticket, after all.”

She smiles a noxious smile, hoists her skirts and teleports away. In the wake of her departure, silence falls, and I hold myself very still for a long moment, straining for any sound or sign that she might not really have gone. But she has, so I call out to my heart.

“Emma…? Are you alright?”

She moans, massaging her aching throat, but she nods.

“I’m okay, but Regina… what the hell are we going to do?”

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to drop a note to say thank you SO MUCH for reading this fanfic :) 
> 
> If you're enjoying my work please consider dropping me a follow on Twitter? 💜💜 I'm also currently working on a full-length novel that isn't fanfic, but definitely has loads of magic, and a little lesbian love (coming soon!) 🤗
> 
> https://twitter.com/TitaniaTempest - @TitaniaTempest


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